


they say home is where your heart is set in stone

by notfirewoodyet



Category: The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb)
Genre: Angst, Childhood Friends, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Peter's hero complex can get a tad bit irritating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-13
Updated: 2014-06-13
Packaged: 2018-02-04 10:56:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 34,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1776619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notfirewoodyet/pseuds/notfirewoodyet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s decided he’ll stand up for Peter when he needs to because Peter may be awkward, and goofy, and smarter than their whole class combined, and has a tumbleweed growing on his head that he has the nerve to call hair, but Harry recognizes that the kid has a good heart.</p><p>Or, Harry and Peter's relationship through the years</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, if someone told me when I started writing this that it would end up being a 30k fic, I would have laughed really hard. But, what can I say? These two inspire. Enjoy!

Harry is unimpressed to say the least. This scrawny kid in front of him is insanely awkward, has a mop of messy brown hair (seriously has this kid never heard of a comb?), glasses that take up half his face (who has shitty eyes at five-years-old?), and hasn’t looked up from his shoes once since he’s been on the Osborn’s doorstep.

“Harry,” Norman says with a strong grip on Harry’s shoulders, “this is Peter. Peter I would like you to meet my son, Harry.”

“Hi,” Peter barely mumbles out as he crashes his face into his father’s hip, succeeding in knocking half his glasses off his face. Harry cocks his eyebrow in response.

He doesn’t understand why his father insists on him being friends with this kid. He knows his father and Peter’s father are friends, even if lately they seem to be engaging in increasingly heated conversations when he happens to be eavesdropping, but that doesn’t mean he has to be friends with Mr. Parker’s kid does it? Harry actually likes Mr. Parker. He has a kind voice, so unlike his father’s, and he sneaks Harry small pieces of candy when his father isn’t looking the few times he goes to visit him in the lab, but Peter just seems so…so…boring? Unexceptional? An easy target for bullies to pick on? Harry doesn’t want to be associated with that.

“Harry,” Mr. Parker says, “Peter’s going to be starting at Grant Elementary next week just like you. Your father and I thought it would be nice if you boys finally met, and you know you all could look out for each other while you’re there,” he finishes with a small laugh. Right. Harry almost forgot he was going to Grant for kindergarten, instead of Roosevelt like all his other friends, because his dad thinks it’ll benefit Harry to be around “public school kids” because “one day Harry, you’ll be running Oscorp and you need to be able to relate to the common person, son.” That was rich coming from Norman Osborn. 

“Sure, Mr. Parker.” Harry doesn’t want to say no to him, but yeah, he has no intention of being friends with Peter, let alone looking out for him, and he has a feeling that his father has ulterior motives to him meeting Peter. Because while Mr. Parker’s talking about “looking out for each other,” his father has just been telling him how smart Peter is, and “did you know Peter built his own microscope?”, and “it’ll be good to be around someone like that Harry. Maybe his intelligence can rub off on you.” 

“I’ll see you around, Peter,” Harry says vaguely, hoping this incredibly awkward introduction can be over. “Kay,” Peter mumbles again, and Harry is just so done.

\----------

Harry looks over his Prada sunglasses, scoping out the kids scattered all across the playground. If his friends can’t be here with him, then he’s just going to have to rake in some new ones, but they have to be the right ones. 

Flash Thompson seems like a worthy candidate, even if the kid is a bit stupid with an even stupider name, but the other kids seem intimidated by him, and Harry thinks that’s important. If people are scared of you, then they won’t get any bright ideas about messing with you. 

Harry continues to survey the playground when his eyes land on Peter Parker, sitting on top of the monkey bars with an enormous textbook shoved in his face. Harry can barely make out the title from where he’s standing, but he thinks he sees the words ‘quantum physics’ on the top, and the cover is full of those equations that are always lining the walls of Oscorp’s labs that make Harry’s head hurt just by looking at them. Jesus, this kid was such a freak.

“Hey, Parker,” Flash yells from his place at the bottom of the monkey bars, “is this yours?” Flash is holding up a teddy bear that looks like it has seen better days, with one eye missing, and the name ‘Peter’ stitched on to the bottom of its left foot. 

Peter’s eyes widen to an almost unbelievable size, but he doesn’t move or speak. After a few seconds, he returns to looking at his book. Harry snorts, because really, he thinks ignoring Flash and his goons is going to work? It’s just gonna rile them up more. 

“What else do you have in here Parker?” Flash says with a taunting laugh. “A binky? Did your parents pack you a bottle for lunch?” 

Peter continues to ignore him, although his eyes are getting more and more watery by the second. Finally, Flash grabs onto the bottom of Peter’s jeans and starts to pull. Peter’s unnaturally long limbs start flailing all over the place, as he tries to grab onto whatever’s closest, to avoid being pulled down. The other kids are laughing along at Flash’s antics, some kids look like they want to help, but probably know better because then they’ll be the target, and Harry looks along with a barely muted interest.

He thinks he should probably help the poor kid, but he’s also not interested in being Flash’s next punching bag, and really Peter brought this on himself. He brought his stuffed animal to school? Really?

Flash finally succeeds in pulling Peter off the monkey bars, and he lands with a loud smack on the grass. Peter pulls himself up with shaky hands and wobbling knees, blood running down his elbow, and looks around at all the kids pointing and laughing or whispering to their friends, when his eyes finally land on Harry. He looks almost disappointed in Harry. As if he was expecting him to help like he had told his father he would. Well Harry’s not going to feel bad about that. He shrugs his shoulders, and stalks off the playground as the bell rings.

\----------

The rest of the school week is pretty unexciting. Peter continues to get picked on and Harry continues not to help. At least he isn’t joining in on Flash’s little pranks. Harry deemed Flash Thompson unworthy of his time. The kid was painfully stupid, and his toughness was just an act, Harry decided. He saw Flash fall down one day outside of school and scrape his knee, and he started wailing as if his arm had just fallen off.

When the weekend rolled around, Harry was looking forward to sleeping in like a normal kid. That is until his butler, Samuel, barges in and draws his curtains back with a chipper “good morning” thrown in there for good measure.

“Wha’ ‘ime is it,” Harry mumbles with his face squashed in his pillow. “It is approximately 9:06 a.m., Mr. Osborn,” Samuel replies in an even more chipper tone if that was possible. “Your father would like you to be dressed and downstairs in the main living room in half an hour, Mr. Osborn.”

“Wha’ ‘or,” Harry continues to mumble, finding himself physically incapable of moving his head off the pillow. “Your father has scheduled a play date for you, Mr. Osborn, with a Mr. Peter Parker.” Harry groans in response.

Great, a Saturday morning with Peter Parker. His life officially sucks.

Harry makes himself get up, get dressed, comb his hair neatly to the side (he has half a mind to take the comb with him when he goes downstairs to meet Peter and run it through the kid’s own damn hair), and quickly eat a muffin Samuel brought up for him.

When he gets to the living room, Peter is already there, sitting on the couch that looks like it’s swallowing his scrawny frame, and swinging his legs back and forth as he fidgets with his thumbs. 

“Harry, how nice of you to join us,” his father says, putting a strong hand on his bony shoulder, and guiding him towards Peter. 

“Hi, Peter,” Harry spits out, because as much as this is the last thing he wants to be doing today, or ever really, he still wants to please his father, even if he dislikes the man most days with an intensity that is probably unhealthy for a five-year-old. 

“Hi,” Peter mumbles out, of course, and Harry’s beginning to wonder if this kid has ever spoken clearly a day in his life.

“I thought you boys could play here for a bit, and then later Meredith can take you two over to the zoo and get some ice cream,” his father says, “would you like that?” Peter is starting to closely resemble a bobblehead with the way he’s enthusiastically nodding his abnormally large head up and down, and Harry nods the way a normal person should.

“Great,” his father says to Peter, directing a smile at the small boy that Harry’s never seen directed towards himself. He wants to reach over and punch Peter’s stupid glasses off his stupid face. Harry clenches his fist once by his side instead. “Harry, when you boys are ready, let Samuel know, and he can inform Meredith. Behave you two,” his father says, looking solely at Harry, and whisking out of the room.

Play time between them consists of Harry flipping through Saturday morning cartoons on the big screen TV, while Peter reads more of his dumb science books. 

Figuring the faster they can go to the zoo, the faster they get home, and the faster Peter can leave, Harry gets up to tell Samuel that they would like to go to the zoo now. “Of course, Mr. Osborn, let me just go inform Miss Meredith.” Meredith was Harry’s part-time nanny, meaning his father would call her whenever Harry wanted to go shopping, or to the movies, or to the park with his friends, so he could avoid having to go himself.

Samuel leads the two of them out to the car, and Meredith is already waiting for them inside. “Good morning, Harry,” she says smiling. “Morning,” Harry greets in return, already slipping on his sunglasses, preparing to doze on the window.

“And who might you be,” she says, turning her smile on Peter. “I’m Peter Parker, ma’am,” Peter mumbles, and Harry snorts. “Oh, are you Richard’s son?” she continues, and Peter nods in return. “Of course you are! You look just like him, and it looks like you’re a genius like him as well,” she says, eyeing the book Peter has already pulled out onto his lap.

“I don’t think I’m a genius ma’am,” Peter murmurs, and Harry doesn’t know if he’s faking modesty or if he actually believes that because it’s pretty obvious to everyone that the kid’s a freaking genius. It annoys Harry all the more. “Oh of course you are dear,” Meredith says, nodding to the book in his lap, “and you’re so polite as well. You’re such a sweet boy, Peter.”

Peter blushes in return, and Harry can’t even find it within himself to be annoyed at that, because he knows that he has an attitude that could rival any teenager’s at just five-years-old. Peter is probably a breath of fresh air to Meredith. Harry doesn’t think he’s cruel, or outright rude to anybody, but common courtesy escapes him. That’s something he can thank his father for.

Their outing to the zoo is so tiring. Peter is dragging Meredith, and by association Harry, all over the zoo, rambling out useless facts about each animal with a barely controlled glee. Peter’s not mumbling anymore, but he’s speaking so fast, Harry can’t understand him anyway. Harry spends his time tuning Peter out, and constantly scanning the crowd around him, making sure no one from school sees him here with Peter Parker. Harry makes sure to keep at least three feet of space between him and Peter at all times, just in case someone does see them, and maybe they’ll think they both came to the zoo coincidentally, but are in no way here together. 

By the time they make it to what is, please, god, the last animal exhibit, Harry is cranky, sweaty, and achy. “Can we go now?” he asks Meredith, while he starts walking towards the car that is calling out to him like a beacon of light. He checks over his shoulder, and sees that Meredith has Peter’s hand grasped in hers, and they are walking towards the car as well. Good, at least people are still listening to him. He feels like he’s been in Peter’s shadow since he woke up this morning, and the thought of that makes his skin itchy. 

When they get back to the mansion, Harry immediately collapses onto the first couch he sees, while Peter hovers nervously by the doorway. “So, did you boys have fun,” his father says, waltzing into the room, typing away on his handheld. Peter smiles and nods his head, while Harry grumbles out something that sounds like “sure.” 

“That’s good,” his father continues. “Well Peter, I must say I’m quite impressed,” he says, picking up the Quantum Physics book Peter had forgotten to pack away into his bag when they left for the zoo. “Your father is always telling me how smart you are, but I didn’t know you understood all this,” he says skimming through the pages. “Yes, sir,” Peter says, blushing again. “Impressive. Maybe, you can show Harry how to work out some of this stuff? Although, I doubt he’ll understand any of it, no matter how hard you try,” his father says, with what Harry thinks is a mocking laugh, but probably sounds normal to Peter’s untrained ears.

“Mr. Osborn, did you know that a lion’s roar can be heard from as far as 5 miles away? And did you know that the fastest penguin is called the gentoo, and it can swim underwater at almost 22 miles per hour? And did you know that grizzly bears have excellent memories? They can remember the faces of bears they haven’t seen for more than 10 years!” Peter says, out of breath, and gesturing with his long arms.

“No Peter, I can’t say I knew any of that,” Norman chuckles, most likely confused as to why the boy decided to share these random animal facts out of nowhere.  
“Yeah, I didn’t either, sir. Harry told me all about the animals today when we went to the zoo. He’s really smart,” Peter says with a smile. Speaking of animals, Harry probably looks like a fish with the way his mouth just dropped open. Harry sure as hell didn’t tell Peter any of that stuff, he didn’t know any of that stuff until two seconds ago, so what was this kid playing at?

“Well, that’s good to hear Peter,” his father says, looking over at Harry with a disbelieving expression, but deciding to humor Peter anyway. “Maybe Harry can tell me all about ducks sometime,” his father finishes, again with that mocking tone, as he waltzes right back out of the room.

As soon as Samuel closes the door to give the two boys some privacy, Harry rounds on Peter. “What the heck was that?” Harry demands, shoving the kid’s shoulder. “You know I didn’t tell you any of that crap, so why did you say I did?” 

“I know it’s not right to lie, Harry. But I-, I just-, I just thought that-. Look Harry, you’re smart. I know you are. You read really well. Remember when Mrs. Carter asked you to read out loud during story time? You didn’t stumble over your words once!” Peter says, as though it’s some remarkable feat. “And you also paint really well. Last Wednesday, when Mrs. Carter gave us some free time for art, I saw what you painted hung up on the wall, and it was really good! I could never paint like that! Maybe you can’t understand some of things in my science book or maybe you can, I don’t know, but that isn’t what makes a person smart. Everybody is just good at their own things. My parents tell me that everyone is born with a talent, and we should use it! So you are smart Harry, okay? You are.” Peter’s looking up at him with his big, brown doe eyes hidden away under his enormous glasses, silently begging Harry to believe him. Peter reaches out with his right hand, moving it towards Harry’s left, but then hurriedly shoves it into his pocket.

Harry gives Peter a strange look and then cocks his eyebrow. “Whatever you say, Peter.” They stand there for a few moments. Well, Harry stands there, Peter kicks his feet around and twists his hands together several times, until Samuel comes in to inform them that Peter’s mother had arrived to take him home. “Thank you, sir,” Peter mumbles towards Samuel’s retreating form.

Peter gathers up his bag and says, “I had fun today, Harry,” as he shuffles towards the door. 

“Me too, Peter,” Harry chokes out before Peter disappears, surprising himself because he didn’t plan on saying that at all. Peter looks just as stunned as Harry does, but then he collects himself and shoots a wide grin in Harry’s direction. Harry offers a small smile in return because, why not, right?

The following Monday, Peter and Harry sport matching black eyes and grins at the end of recess. Harry hopes the bullies back off of Peter a bit now that he’s made it clear he won’t tolerate anyone messing with him, because he really doesn’t want to make a habit of getting punched in the face. Flash’s fists are like tiny trucks. But, he’s decided he’ll stand up for Peter when he needs to because Peter may be awkward, and goofy, and smarter than their whole class combined, and has a tumbleweed growing on his head that he has the nerve to call hair, but Harry recognizes that the kid has a good heart. He’s not so quick to forget what Peter did for him in front of his father, and in Harry’s opinion, that’s the kind of person he wants to call a friend.

\----------

After their silent agreement of friendship, because Harry didn’t want to be all sappy and have a heart-to-heart with Peter acknowledging that they were best friends now (they knew they were and that was that), Harry didn’t need his father to set up play dates and order Samuel to drag him downstairs. He was the one inviting Peter over every Saturday and towing him all over New York City. 

They made frequent trips to FAO Schwarz, and Harry would make sure to put things he knew Peter would like in his basket to give to the boy when they got back to the mansion. For some reason, Peter always reluctantly accepted gifts from Harry by saying, “You really didn’t have to, you know,” but Harry wouldn’t hear it, he just need to be more sneaky. So, he would tell Peter that he decided he didn’t want these toys anymore in the time it took them to drive from the store to Harry’s house, so Peter would be doing him a favor by taking them off his hands. Peter never looked like he believed him, but at least he didn’t argue with Harry anymore.

Peter invited Harry over to his house as well, and Harry finally got to meet Peter’s mom. She was unsurprisingly as kind as her husband. No wonder Peter is the way he is, growing up with the parents he has. Harry thinks about his own mother that he never got a chance to know. He wonders if she were still alive, would he be different? Maybe he wouldn’t be such a bitter little kid having only his father to look up to. Peter realizes Norman Osborn is a bit cold to his son, but he constantly tells Harry how awesome he thinks his dad is because Norman lets Peter play in the Oscorp labs sometimes, and gives Peter old equipment that the researchers no longer use. Harry would trade in his father for Peter’s parents any day. Well, you always want what you can’t have. 

Unfortunately, the bullies keep picking on Peter, which means they keep picking on Harry, but it was becoming a weekly thing rather than an everyday type of thing. By third grade, Harry Osborn has decided that Grant Elementary isn’t so bad. He still sees his friends from Roosevelt from time to time, but it isn’t the same. He finds himself constantly comparing them to Peter. They don’t have his unassuming humor, or his quick intelligence, and they’re too poised and proper. Peter constantly trips over his own feet, which Harry laughs at every single time without fail.

All things considered, things were going pretty well in his eight-year-old life, until Samuel calls him downstairs, and he’s greeted with the sight of a soaked and shaking Peter Parker on his doorstep, looking like he’s trying very hard not to cry.

“Pete, what hap-?” Harry doesn’t even finish his question before Peter lets out a barely suppressed sob. “They’re gone, Harry,” Peter chokes out as his whole body shivers forward. “Who’s gone, Pete? Tell me what happened.” Harry tries to usher the shaking boy inside. He isn’t exactly sure how people get pneumonia, but he thinks standing in a torrential downpour wearing nothing but jeans and a thin t-shirt is a sure-fire method.

Harry finally gets Peter inside, while Samuel scurries away to hopefully get some towels and maybe a blanket for the poor kid, when Peter loses the little control he has. “My parents, Harry, they’re gone! They left me with my Aunt May and Uncle Ben, and just left. They didn’t even tell me why.” Peter’s small, heaving frame collapses onto Harry’s equally thin body, and Harry carefully maneuvers them down to the floor so they’re kneeling instead of awkwardly trying to balance on each other.

“Peter, I’m so sorry,” Harry says as he hugs Peter as tight as he can and runs his bony hand through Peter’s hair, in what he hopes is a comforting manner. Harry isn’t the best at this kind of stuff, another thing he can thank his father for, and if their positions were reversed, Peter would probably know exactly what to say to make him feel better, but he has to be there for Peter. He’s one of the only people he has left now, and he’s going to try his absolute hardest to get his best friend through this.

Samuel returns with about a dozen fluffy towels, and makes his way over to the shaking boys on the floor of the entryway. He hesitantly drapes a towel over Peter’s soaked t-shirt, and for the first time since Harry’s known him, the butler looks out of sorts. “Thank you, Samuel, I can take it from here,” Harry says, remembering not to forget that ‘thank you.’ That was all Peter’s influence. “Manners, Harry Osborn,” Peter had said to him one day as he casually dismissed one of the maids from his room, and ever since, Harry has tried not to forget to use them. He never wants Peter to be disappointed in him. 

Harry disentangles himself from Peter’s still abnormally long limbs, and grabs another towel to run through Peter’s dripping hair. He takes the corners of the towel, and gently brushes them along Peter’s face to get rid of the droplets. Then he dries Peter’s arms and hands, before tightening the towel around Peter’s shoulders. The shaking has subsided somewhat, which Harry takes as a good sign that Peter is calming down, but he still sees a constant stream of tears rolling down his friend’s cheeks.

“Hey, Peter, come on. We need to warm you up. You’re shaking like a leaf, buddy.” Harry manhandles Peter off the floor, and leads them towards the stairs up to his room, when a thought stops him. “Wait, Peter,” Harry says, “I thought you said your parents left you at your aunt and uncle’s house. Don’t they live in Queens? How did you get here?”

Peter hangs his head, and replies in his patent mumble, “I took the subway.” Harry wants to scream at him, and shake his tiny shoulders, until he understands how stupid a thing that is to do, but the poor kid has been through enough for one night. “Peter Parker, you took a subway from Queens to Manhattan, by yourself, at 10 o’clock at night?” Harry says in a controlled tone. Peter nods, his chin hitting his chest with each movement, and Harry just sighs in response. “Peter Parker.”

When they make their way to Harry’s room, Harry directs Peter towards the phone. “Call your aunt and uncle, okay? Tell them you’re gonna stay with me tonight.” Harry pulls out some of his old pajamas from the bottom drawer of his dresser, grabs a towel, and heads towards the bathroom. The pajamas will undoubtedly be a little too short on Peter, but oh well, it’s better than nothing. At least they’re dry. “You can take a shower in here, okay Pete?” Harry yells out as he reaches for a new bar of soap.

Harry makes his way back into his bedroom, and sees Peter sitting on the edge of the bed, wringing his shirt between his fingers, which is causing water to get all over the comforter. Harry would yell at him if this were any other time. “Why did they leave me, Harry?” Peter asks in a broken sob.

Harry sits down on the bed beside Peter, ignoring the water seeping into his own pajama pants, and puts an arm around his shoulders. “I don’t know, Pete. I wish I did. I wish there was something I could tell you to make this better, or do something to bring them back, but I do know one thing. This wasn’t your fault, okay Peter? It’s nothing you did.” Harry knew that for sure, because he can’t imagine one single thing Peter Parker can do to make anyone want to leave him. Harry can’t ever imagine being away from Peter.

“I had to have done something!” Peter yells. “I mean they didn’t even take me with them, and they wouldn’t even tell me why!” The tears are flowing freely now, and Harry sure as hell feels like crying too, but he has to be strong. Peter crashes his head into Harry’s chest, while Harry rubs one comforting hand along his back and one in his hair. “I’m sorry, Pete.”

Peter finally pulls himself together enough to call his aunt and uncle. They scold him for running out of the house in the rain and hopping on a subway by himself, but they don’t get too mad at him. Everyone knows it’s not the time. He showers and changes, and Harry directs Peter towards his warm bed, after having Samuel change the wet comforter. 

He runs his hand through Peter’s hair until he falls asleep, and Harry is halfway to dreamland himself, when his father opens the door to his bedroom. Harry slowly gets off the bed, careful not to wake Peter, and walks towards his father’s shadowy figure. He strides out into the hallway, and closes the door softly behind him. “His parents just left him, dad,” Harry blurts out. “I know, Harry,” his father says, “Samuel told me everything.”

“They didn’t even tell him why, dad. Do you know why? I know you’re friends with Mr. Parker. Did he tell you anything?” Harry’s hoping his father will know something, anything at all. He just wants to give Peter some form of comfort.

“I’m sorry, son, but Richard didn’t tell me anything. It’s unfortunate, but sometimes these things happen, Harry, for no reason at all. But, we’ll take care of Peter now, along with his aunt and uncle. We’ll be his family.” His father pats him on the shoulder, and tells him to sleep well.

Harry makes his way back towards his bed, and slowly lies down alongside Peter’s still form. He wraps his arms tightly around the boy’s waist, and tucks his head underneath his chin. It’s then that Harry vows that nothing will hurt Peter Parker again, at least not without going through him first.

\----------

Peter was different now. That much was obvious, and Harry was expecting it, because really someone can’t go through what Peter has gone through and remain the same. However, Harry would be lying if he said he didn’t miss his Peter. The Peter who would open both his eyes and his mouth when he woke up each morning. The Peter who rambled on about the most useless and trivial facts, in Harry’s opinion of course, while Harry just rolled his eyes and let the boy blather on. The Peter who talked Harry into climbing trees, jumping ledges, and climbing down the rocky slope that led down to the East River so they could skip rocks because “you can’t be afraid to get those designer shoes a bit scuffed up, Harry, come on!”

But, this Peter didn’t have any interest in doing any of those things. It had been a few months since his parents had left, and he only spoke when spoken to, and even then he would respond with one or two-word answers. He didn’t play with his science equipment anymore. When Harry was over at his house one time, he saw Peter’s microscope covered up and stashed towards the very back of his closet, where neither of them could reach it. Harry couldn’t even remember the last time he heard Peter crack a joke, let alone laugh. To say the least, Harry was concerned. To say the most, Harry had never been so worried in his entire young life. He needed to fix this, but how?

At this point, Harry could give him Disney World, The National Air and Space Museum, and Vans Skatepark, and none of that would do a damn thing. There was a hole left in Peter Parker’s heart that nothing and no one could fill, but man, if Harry didn’t want to try.

So, he devised a plan. Harry was even going to break his non-subway rule for this. As well as his, not getting on a subway late at night rule. He and Peter were currently watching Monsters, Inc. for the millionth time, since that was one of Peter’s favorite movies, in the theater room. Today had been a pretty bad day for Peter. Flash and his goons had stopped picking on Peter as much after what happened with his parents, and when they did pick on him it was half-hearted at best. But, when Peter got to school it had been raining the previous night, and he slid on a patch of mud and dirtied up his jeans. He couldn’t call his aunt or uncle for help because they couldn’t get off work to bring him another pair. Then he got after-school detention thanks to an overzealous hall monitor who cited Peter for running in the halls, even if he was late to his computer class. Needless to say, Peter looked even more deflated than usual. He didn’t even give a slight chuckle when Mike and Sulley started singing, “Put that Thing Back Where it Came from or So Help Me,” which for some reason, Peter thought was one of the most hilarious things he had ever seen in his life the first time they saw the movie.

“Hey, Pete,” Harry says as the credits begin to roll on the screen, “I have something to show you. Come on!” He was hoping some of his enthusiasm would be infectious on the other boy. “What is it, Harry,” Peter sighs as he runs his hands through his hair, a newly acquired habit. “Well, we need to go somewhere first,” Harry responds as he tugs his coat on, and tosses Peter his.

They quietly tiptoe down the stairs towards the first floor, dashing behind banisters, tables, and basically anything in sight, to avoid being seen by any lingering staff. Luckily, the alarm hasn’t been set yet, and Harry knows how to disarm it from the outside, so sneaking back in won’t be a problem. Then, they make their way out the door and venture off towards the subway station.

“Harry, what do you think you’re doing? It’s almost 9 o’clock. You know we’re not supposed to be out this late on our own,” Peter pants out, chasing after Harry, who had decided to take off in a sprint. “Come on, Parker, live a little. This is gonna be fun, I promise,” Harry yells back, watching as Peter flails behind.

The two boys hop on the E train, and Harry sees when Peter starts to put two and two together. “Are we headed down to the river, Harry?” Peter asks, looking cautious, but also a little excited, or maybe Harry is just projecting. “We are indeed, Peter.” Harry smiles and ruffles Peter’s hair a little because he knows how it annoys the other boy. 

Hudson River Park is Harry and Peter’s favorite place in the city. Meredith dreads having to take them there because once they step foot out of the car, it’s like their brains switch on to overdrive and there’s no stopping them when they get to that point. It’s the one place where Harry doesn’t mind rumpling up his clothes and his hair a bit. They chase each other all over the small, grassy hills and pretend that they’re superheroes. Harry and Peter would constantly bicker over which city they were “saving” that day. “Let’s save the people of Metropolis!” Peter would scream, launching off into the grass with his arms spread wide. “I don’t think so, Pete. We’re obviously saving the people of Gotham City!” Harry would yell back, because really Batman was so much cooler than Superman. When they weren’t “saving” Metropolis/Gotham City, Harry and Peter would weave in and out of the bike and running lane, despite the vocal annoyance of some bikers and runners. They would also race towards the railings running along the river, and see which one of them could dangle farthest over the edge, before Meredith would yank them back by their shirt collars. But, none of that was happening much lately.

Harry hadn’t completely taken a leave of his senses. He knew it was much too dark out for he and Peter to try their competitive little game, and Peter didn’t run much these days, let alone play pretend, but Harry was hoping this place, their favorite place in New York City, would be enough for some of his Peter to come back.

Harry directs them towards one of the various green hills lining the park, grasping on to Peter’s wrist to make sure he’s following. He lies down on the damp grass, puts his hands behind his head, and watches as Peter follows suit. “So, now what?” Peter asks, after a few minutes of silence. “I don’t know, Peter. I just wanted to come here with you is all. We haven’t been in such a long time.” A few more minutes of silence pass between them, both boys with their hands behind their heads, looking up at the slightly obscured stars due to the city lights and smog, and Harry is beginning to think this wasn’t such a good plan after all.

“I haven’t been that much fun these past few months, huh Harry? I’m sorry about that.” Peter turns to look at Harry, and he does the same. Peter looks, well he looks sort of ashamed, as if he’s been acting like a poor excuse for a friend. “No, Peter, it’s not that,” Harry says, comfortingly. “I’m just worried about you, kid. I mean, you don’t laugh anymore, and you barely speak. When you do talk, you don’t even look people in the eye. And, I get it Peter, I do. I get why you’re like this now, I just wish there was something I could do, Peter. I want to help you. I want to make it hurt less,” Harry whispers out that last part, swallowing past a lump in his throat, and woah, when did that get there?

Peter’s eyes are glistening now, and he sniffles a bit, which Harry pretends to ignore. “You do make it hurt less,” Peter says, reaching out towards Harry’s left hand with his right, giving it a little squeeze. “You make things better just by sitting with me during lunch even though no one else wants to, and by talking to me all the time even when I don’t have much to say back, and by inviting me over to your house and coming over to mine so we can watch movies or play video games or play Go Fish for the thousandth time. You make things better by being with me.”

The lump in Harry’s throat is threatening to choke him now. Great. So, he maneuvers them both so they’re lying on their backs again, and he holds onto Peter’s hand even tighter. Harry scoots closer to Peter, and Peter puts his head gently on Harry’s shoulder.

“It’ll be okay, Pete,” Harry says, because even if they aren’t right now, they will be in the future. He has to believe that. “It’ll all be okay.”

\----------

Things got better, as Harry was hoping they would, and as the years went by Peter Parker came back into himself bit by bit until the light in his eyes had returned, glistening with tears of laughter rather than sadness. 

Yeah, things were okay for a while, until they weren’t.

In a weird scene of déjà vu, Harry was now the one standing on Peter’s doorstep, dress shirt soaked through and sticking uncomfortably to his skin. He would have reached for an umbrella, or a coat, or something if he hadn’t rushed out of his house and into the streets as fast as his legs could carry him.

He knocked softly on the door, stilling his shaking hand as best as he could, and Aunt May greeted him, her face shifting from happiness to concern in three seconds flat. “Hi, Mrs. Parker,” Harry says in a flat tone, “is Peter here?”

“Sweetheart, what happened to you? Where’s Jackson? Doesn’t he usually drive you around?” Aunt May ushers in the shaking boy, and guides him to the couch, reaching for the afghan draped on the back along the way.

“It’s just me today, Mrs. Parker. I guess I wasn’t expecting it to be raining,” Harry replies, fidgeting with his thumbs.

Aunt May looks at him, clearly knowing there is more to the story than the boy is offering, but she won’t push. “Well, at least let me make you some tea.”  
“Oh no, really, Mrs. Parker, that won’t be necessary,” Harry stutters out, “I just wanted to tell Peter something.”

“I insist, dear. I wouldn’t want you to catch a cold. And really Harry, you can call me Aunt May too, you know? I’ve known you practically your whole life.” She smiles gently, that warm and genuine grin that never fails to remind him of Peter, and pats his shoulder as she walks towards the kitchen. 

Harry has always liked Peter’s aunt and uncle, and he’s gotten to know them better since Peter moved in with them. He actually admires them so much. They’ve worked so hard to give Peter everything, and he’s not even their actual child. Harry wonders for the billionth time how different he would be if he didn’t have the father he has. Maybe he wouldn’t be in the situation he’s in right now.

Peter comes racing down the stairs, and almost collides into the wall near the landing when he sees Harry sitting on the couch. Just like Aunt May, Peter’s face shifts from a wide grin to anxious eyes when he takes in the sight before him.

“Harry, what hap-?” Peter barely asks, when Harry blurts out, “I’m leaving, Peter.” Yeah, this is exactly like last time, Harry thinks, only now their positions are obviously reversed.

Peter’s face falls completely and he looks a little pale now. Harry is wondering if it’s possible for a human heart to break in two. Logically, he knows it can’t happen, but damn his chest really hurts. “You’re lea-, lea-, what do you mean you’re leaving?” Peter is biting on his bottom lip hard to keep it from trembling.

“My dad,” Harry sighs deeply, and stands up to face Peter. “He’s shipping me off to boarding school in England. I leave tomorrow morning.”

Peter looks like he’s gonna be sick, and Harry thinks about getting the small trash bin by the fireplace just in case. “For how long,” Peter squeaks out, eyes comically wide.

“Until we graduate high school, Pete,” Harry huffs, stuffing his hands in his pockets so he has something to do with them. “Until we graduate?!” Peter’s yelling now, but Harry had expected that. If he wasn’t trying so hard to keep his composure, he would be screaming his throat raw right about now. “But, that’s seven years!” Peter starts pacing around in a small circle, looking for all intents and purposes like he’s going to wear a hole in the hardwood floor, running his hands through his hair, across his mouth, and over his clothes as if that would help him get a grasp on what his best friend is telling him.

“I don’t want to, Pete. You know that, but I don’t have a choice here. Unfortunately, an 11-year-old doesn’t get to make these decisions,” Harry chuckles, but it comes out flat and forced. Neither of them are in the mood for laughing much right now.

“Did he at least tell you why?” Peter asks, pinching the bridge of his nose, and suddenly looking much older than eleven. “Nope,” Harry shrugs. “They never do,” Peter whispers.

Harry knows that this has to be bringing up all sorts of bad memories for Peter because even if he isn’t choosing to leave, it still means someone Peter loves is vanishing from his life.

“There has to be something we can do,” Peter says, grasping the back of Harry’s neck with both hands, staring at him intently. “Like what, Pete?” Harry asks just to humor him because no matter how much he wants to believe that he and Peter can come up with some plot to stop this from happening, they won’t. His father is too powerful, and he wants Harry out of his life and an ocean away too badly.

“I don’t know, maybe I can go talk to him.”

“He won’t listen to you.”

“Well, maybe we can run away! We’re both pretty smart. I’m sure we can do it!”

“It won’t work, Peter. We wouldn’t even make it out of the city before one of dad’s goons is chasing us down. I’m still not completely convinced he’s not running a secret spy ring, and Oscorp is just his cover.”

Peter visibly deflates in front of him, and his chest begins to hitch. Suddenly, Harry’s vision is filled with unruly, brown hair, while Peter wraps him up in the tightest hug he has ever received in his life. “You can’t go, Harry! You just can’t!” Harry can feel the edges of Peter’s glasses digging into his neck, and tears hitting his collarbone.

“I’m so sorry, Peter. I wish I could stay.” Harry feels like he should apologize, even though, for once, he knows this situation isn’t at all his fault, but he can’t help but feel badly that he’s leaving Peter behind. He never wants to leave Peter. Harry couldn’t ever imagine doing that, and now he is.

“I’m gonna miss you too much,” Peter sobs out, and Harry rubs a hand gently over his back, in imitation of Peter’s. Looks like they’re comforting each other.

“I’m gonna miss you so much, Pete.” That is Harry Osborn’s breaking point. Once Harry gives his tear ducts the go ahead, it’s as though they’re never going to stop leaking. He’s cried in front of people a total of four times in his conscious memory, and Peter has only been present for one of those occasions, but Harry can’t keep up the act anymore because this situation just completely, totally, and wholeheartedly sucks!

They cling to each other for what feels like forever, both willing each other to calm down and both failing miserably, and Harry sees a blurry image of Aunt May and Uncle Ben from the corner of his eye, standing in the entryway of the kitchen, watching the heartbreaking scene unfold in their living room. They probably want to offer comfort to the two boys, but have chosen to give them their privacy.

Once Harry thinks he can talk without the probability of coughing up his lungs, he grabs each side of Peter’s head, and pushes their foreheads together. “We’ll write each other, okay Peter? And we’ll send emails, and we can call each other all the time. My dad gave me a cell phone, so you can call me anytime you want. It doesn’t matter what time it is.”

Harry can feel the nodding motions Peter’s making, and he was hoping telling him all that would reassure the boy, but he almost seems to be crying harder. He’s about to pull Peter into another bone-crushing hug, when a knock on the door stops his movements, and the two boys swing their heads around to see who it is.

“Mr. and Mrs. Parker,” a stern voice says from the door, “we’ve come to take Mr. Harry Osborn back to his home. He has an early flight tomorrow, and his father wants him to get as much rest as he can.” Harry turns his head towards the window, and he can barely make out the familiar shape of the town car parked by the sidewalk. So his dad sent in the big guns for this. He sent a couple of guys from his personal security detail to escort Harry home. Typical. 

Aunt May and Uncle Ben look over to the boys clinging to each other now with apologetic looks on their faces. They can’t very well keep him from his father, but they sure look like they want to. 

Peter grips Harry’s hand tightly in his own, walks them over to the front door, and levels the 6’5, 250-pound security guard on his doorstep with a death glare. “You can’t take him!” Peter exclaims, surprising everyone around him.

“I know this is hard, son,” the guard says, clearly over the dramatics of this little boy, “but I need you to let me take Mr. Osborn home.”

“No!” Peter shouts again, tugging on Harry’s hand in the process. “It’s not fair! Harry’s grown up here his whole life. We were all supposed to start 6th grade together in a couple of weeks. He can’t go. He just can’t!”

Uncle Ben tries to grip Peter’s shoulders, in an attempt to calm his nephew, but Peter just stares him down as well. It seems like no one is getting in between Harry and Peter.

“I understand that,” the man says again, reaching for Harry’s arm, “but, it’s his father’s decision, so Mr. Osborn needs to come with me, alright champ?” Peter rolls his eyes, clearly as fed up with this patronizing asshole as Harry is.

The guard starts to tug Harry towards the driveway, and Peter latches on to his neck like a vice. “No! You can’t take him! You can’t! You can’t!” Peter’s voice is breaking on every other syllable, and there’s so much snot coming out of Harry’s nose, he’s using Peter’s t-shirt as a handkerchief. The guard wraps his arm around Harry’s waist, and pulls even harder, while Uncle Ben is trying to get a much gentler grip on Peter. Neither of them wants to let go, because they know the second they let go, is the second this all becomes real.

The guard finally succeeds in yanking Harry away, and he feels as though everything is happening in slow motion. He feels himself being rushed to the car, the guard probably afraid that Peter will try to handcuff himself to Harry next, and he sees Peter nudging on his uncle’s arm, ordering him to let him go.

He gets shoved into the car, and Jackson speeds onto the street before the door is even completely closed. Peter must have succeeded in prying Uncle Ben off of him, because the next thing he sees is Peter’s flailing limbs, and rain-soaked hair, frantically chasing after them. His figure is shrinking the farther they drive, and Harry just wants to hit something because he knows that this is the last time he’s going to see Peter Parker’s face for a very long time. 

\----------

Bartholomew Louis Xavier Percival Franklin’s School for Boys is the worst place on Earth, Harry decides after his first week of classes. God, the name of the school is even more pretentious than he is.

The people are uptight and snobby, and the dorm supervisors are so anal, that Harry is afraid to even drink a glass of water in his room, for fear of a droplet staining the carpet. The lectures are boring and taught by monotone professors, and if someone thinks playing polo is Harry’s idea of fun, then they are sadly mistaken. 

The only thing Harry has to look forward to is the daily emails from Peter, and now he’s anticipating Peter’s call on Sunday evening, desperately wanting to hear the boy’s voice. They agreed to limit calls to a weekly basis, so Aunt May and Uncle Ben didn’t have to go into bankruptcy to support the long-distance fees.

Time passes, and Harry decides to make some friends. He’s tired of living like a hermit. He’s been through denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and now he’s reached acceptance. Harry is going to be stuck at this school for seven years whether he likes it or not, so he befriends a group of boys that don’t make him want to brain himself on the nearest hard surface every time they speak, and things start to get a bit better.

His father sends him a postcard once every month, and Harry starts throwing them away after the fourth one he receives. He knows his father isn’t sending these to him personally, so what’s the point?

After the first year, the number of Peter’s emails starts dwindling down, admittedly his do as well, and the calls come once every three months. In the next few years, they eventually reach the point where they text each other on their birthdays and major holidays, and that’s it. They’re both teenagers now, living their lives on two separate continents, and it might as well be in two different worlds.

He takes up smoking pot occasionally, and he and his friends spend their weekends getting drunk in their dorm rooms on alcohol they liberated from different places around campus. Harry loses his virginity at 15, after sneaking out to a pub in the city, to a beautiful redhead, in a bathroom that smells like piss and cigarettes. It’s awkward and clunky, but she guides him through it, and after he a few more tries with different people, he thinks he’s pretty good at this sex thing.

He has enough common sense to stay focused on his studies, because this life of leisure isn’t going to last forever, but he’s enjoying it while he can. And contrary to what his father believes, Harry is quite intelligent, so he works hard enough to make the Dean’s List every semester. 

He thinks about Peter from time to time, of course, and he finds himself slipping his name into conversations without meaning to, but he hasn’t spoken to him in so long. The last Harry heard, Peter was winning another science award, this time for some research he had done on proton beam therapy, and he was as smart as ever. Although, he had the second-highest GPA at Rigby Middle School, thanks to some girl named Gwen Stacy, who transferred to the school in 7th grade.

Harry thought about getting back in contact with him. He would sit on his bed, laptop open in front of him, with Peter’s email address typed into the recipient bar, but he would hit the discard button after a few minutes of staring. Sometimes, he found himself flipping open his cell, his finger hovering over Peter’s phone number, but he would quickly stuff it back into his blazer pocket. 

The truth was, he thought it was easier for the both of them this way. For all that it hurt when he left, and for all that it still hurts when he lets himself think about it too much, Harry just thinks it’s best if they both find a way to move on. Who knows where he’s gonna be after graduation? He might never go back to New York City. He could stay in England, or buy a home in France, or rent a penthouse in Italy. 

It’s not fair to either of them to keep holding on to something that’ll most likely fade away overtime anyway. He brushes his thumb gently across the glass frame holding a picture of him and Peter with their arms around each other, grinning widely, after another adventurous day at Hudson River Park. Then, Harry slowly places it face down in the bottom drawer of his desk, and closes it with finality.


	2. Chapter 2

At 17-years-old, Harry’s life changes again, and he is starting to get tired of this shit. It’s like his happiness came with an expiration date. He is currently sitting on a plane, headed back to New York City, after he finally decided to pick up the sixth call from his father at 3 o’clock in the fucking morning. 

His father explained to him, in short, clipped sentences, that he was to pack up his things and get on a plane back home. It was about time Harry started learning the ropes, and what it took to become the next CEO of Oscorp, his father had said, so he would come back to New York, and he would be enrolling in Midtown High School to complete the spring semester of his junior year. 

“A car is coming to pick you up at 7 a.m. sharp to take you to the airport,” Norman barked over the telephone, “so you better have everything packed up.” Harry let out a petulant groan. “Well, you should have picked up the first time I called,” his father said, and harshly hung up the phone.

New York City was the last place Harry wanted to go right now, because that meant having to constantly deal with his father again. He enjoyed the distance he had gotten from the man these past five years, and now he was headed straight back to the lion’s den. He wasn’t even sure what his father was going on about. Harry was only 17. He had no interest in being CEO-in-training at this age. It’s not like his father was going to collapse and die any second. Harry just knew there was more to this than his father was letting on.

But for all the things he didn’t miss, there was one thing he did. Peter. Even though they had lost touch in the last few years, he still considered Peter his best friend. No matter how many times he even tried to forget Peter sometimes, when the memories became too painful, he never succeeded. Harry should have known better. You can’t just forget someone like Peter Parker, and Harry found himself getting a weird feeling in his gut, the shorter the distance between them became.

When the car pulled up to the Osborn mansion, Harry took a few deep breaths and prepared himself for what was waiting for him. It’s funny, Harry thought, this place should have felt familiar, it should have felt like home, but it didn’t, and if Harry was being honest, it never did.

He headed towards the fourth floor, walking slowly down the hallway that led to his father’s office, and knocked tentatively on the oak door. “Come in,” his father shouted, and this was it. Harry couldn’t deny that this was his reality again.

“Oh, hello Harry. How was your flight?” Norman asked, arranging some papers into a neat stack, and walking over towards his son. “Fine,” Harry replied, in no mood to engage in small talk. He was jetlagged, disoriented, and more than a tad bit irritable.

“Good. Well, I had my assistant enroll you in Midtown High already, so you’ll start tomorrow. Luckily, you’re not starting too far into the spring semester, and it’ll be good for you to attend public school again, since you’re here to learn how to one day run this company, and remember what I told you? It’s good to learn how to relate to the everyday person, son.”

Harry’s head is pounding now. He almost forgot how difficult dealing with his father was. Harry was dismissed from his father’s office, so he could eat and get some rest, and he did exactly that. After jumping into the shower to wash the airplane smell off of him, he ate a quick snack, and promptly fell asleep for 14 hours.

At 7 a.m., Harry is woken up by the blinding sun, after Samuel decides the best way to wake up an exhausted teenager is by opening the curtains wide and humming cheerily under his breath. “Good morning, Mr. Osborn. We wouldn’t want you to be late for school on your first day, so I suggest you start getting ready. We both know how long you take on just your hair alone, and I’m guessing that routine didn’t change much in the years you were gone,” Samuel says with a sly grin.

“Good morning to you to, Samuel,” Harry mumbles out, struck with the distinct urge to chuck a pillow at the overly chipper butler. 

He goes about his morning routine on autopilot, but once he’s in the car on the way to the school his stomach starts to feel like a jumbled mess. This is the first time he’s going to see Peter in six years, and he doesn’t know what to say when he sees him. What if he doesn’t even recognize Peter anymore, but no that’s stupid. It’s been six years, but Peter couldn’t have physically changed that much. A little taller maybe, they both were, but Harry can bet good money Peter’s hair still resembles a bird’s nest.

When they get to the school, Harry gets out of the car donning an Armani coat and Prada sunglasses, and he can immediately see some appreciative glances and more than a few eye rolls, paired with plenty of whispering. He quickly wonders if he knew any of these kids when he was at Grant, chances are he did, but he won’t remember any of them. The only friend he had back then was Peter, and he was the only one Harry cared about enough to pay attention to.

He starts scanning the crowd for Peter, and when Harry’s eyes land on him his breath catches. He looks, he looks really, well for lack of a better word, good. For starters, he’s lost the glasses and the braces, his hair is still unruly, but he keeps it shorter now so it doesn’t look wild, and by the looks of it, he’s got a good 5 or 6 inches on Harry now, when before they used to be roughly the same height. Peter’s currently talking and laughing with two girls, one blonde and one readhead, and Harry is pretty sure, it’s completely possible he’s gawking right about now.

Once he shakes himself out of his stupor, he straightens his shoulders, dusts off his coat, and makes his way over to Peter, striding confidently. At least he hopes it looks confident. He still feels like he could throw up at any moment. He nearly stops mid-step when Peter catches sight of him, but he makes his way over, stopping a foot in front of Peter, and grinning up at him. Up. Up! Jesus, this was so weird. Was it supposed to be this weird? Here comes the pounding headache.

“Harry?” Peter squeaks out, and he hears the blonde snort next to him. 

“Hi, Pete,” Harry says, “I’m back.” 

“What?” Peter squeaks out again, and his eyes are as wide as Harry’s ever seen them.

“I’m back,” Harry repeats, slowly.

“When did you get here?”

“My flight got in yesterday afternoon.”

“How long are you here for?”

“For good, I guess. Today’s my first day at Midtown. Aren’t you going to ask me why? We’ve covered what, when, and how,” Harry teases, hoping Peter will crack a smile, instead of continuing to look at him like he’s the ghost of Christmas past.

“Umm, okay, why?”

“Well, my father says it’s to start training me to one day take over Oscorp as CEO, but I don’t buy it. I’m sure there’s something else going on. You know how he is, Peter.”

Peter doesn’t say anything after that, so before the situation can get any more uncomfortable, Harry turns to the two girls beside him. “Hi, I’m Harry Osborn,” he says, reaching out a hand for them to shake.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Peter rushes out, smacking his head. “Sorry. Harry, this is Gwen Stacy and Mary Jane Watson. Gwen, MJ, this is my best friend Harry Osborn.” Harry smiles a little at that. He’s glad Peter still thinks of him as his best friend too.

“Hi, Harry. It’s really nice to meet you. Peter’s told us a lot about you,” Gwen says, shaking his hand firmly. “Only the good stuff, I hope,” Harry says, winking at Gwen for good measure. So, he’s flirting. He can’t help it. He’s just hoping that neither of these girls are Peter’s girlfriend because that would be incredibly awkward. But Peter didn’t introduce either of them as his girlfriend, so he’s guessing he’s in the clear.

“What’s your first class?” MJ asks, and Harry pulls up his schedule on his phone. “Uh, looks like I have World History with Mr. Ross,” Harry says, pocketing his phone.

“Oh, man,” both MJ and Gwen say, half laughing and half groaning, and yeah, that can’t be good. “He’s a nightmare,” Gwen says, “but the good news is the three of us have that class also, so you won’t suffer alone. But, we can’t be late! One time Peter got there one minute after the bell rang, and Mr. Ross locked him out of class.” Both girls are laughing in earnest now, looking at Peter’s embarrassed grin. 

“You seriously got locked out of class, Parker?” Harry asks, nudging Peter’s arm a bit. Peter just chuckles in response and bends down to pick up his backpack from the ground. 

“Well, we best be off then kids,” MJ says. “Is anyone else counting down the days to summer vacation, or is that just me?”

Harry tunes the girls out as they make their way into the noisy hallways of Midtown High. He tries to steal glances at Peter, who is currently walking beside him with his head down, biting his fingernail. Harry knew things would be a bit awkward between them, given the time they spent apart, and the years that they didn’t talk, but if he were being honest, he supposes he thought that he and Peter would be those types of friends who could go years without speaking, but fall right back into the groove of things when they saw each other again. It looks like he was wrong.

He has one more class with Peter before lunch, and when lunchtime rolls around he sits down at Peter, Gwen, and MJ’s table, but he spends more time talking to the girls than he does to Peter. Peter hasn’t said more than a few words to him, and Harry notices the glances Gwen and MJ keep directing Peter’s way, probably wondering why he’s acting so weird. 

When the girls get into a discussion about some documentary they saw on TV the night before, Harry takes this chance to talk to Peter. “Hey, Pete,” he says, tugging at the sleeve of Peter’s sweater to get his attention. “Do you want to go with me somewhere after school?”

“Uh, sure. Where?” Peter asks, and Harry levels him with an “are you kidding me?” look, because Harry hasn’t been in the city for six years, where else does he think Harry wants to go? “Oh, I gotcha,” Peter chuckles, “sure.” 

Their trek to Hudson River Park is filled with more silence, and it’s starting to give Harry an uneasy feeling, reminding him of the time right after Peter’s parents took off. Peter fidgets with the straps of his backpack for the hundredth time, and Harry wants to yank his hair out in frustration. He’s really trying here. He just wishes Peter would do the same.

Harry directs them to a bench near the river, foregoing the grassy hills, in order to save their clothes from being dampened with wet snow. Harry sits down, pats the space next to him, and Peter looks down at him with a confused expression. “It’s fucking freezing out here, Osborn,” Peter says, looking at Harry like he might indeed be crazy. “It’s New York City in February, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“I’m aware of what month it is, Peter, and it gets colder than this in the place I just came from, so quit your whining and sit.”

Peter reluctantly takes a seat near Harry, and bundles his coat even tighter around himself. “So, what have you been up to, Pete,” Harry says, in an attempt to steer them into conversation.

“Not much,” Peter replies, setting his backpack down by his feet. “Just school, and I’m selling some pictures to the Daily Bugle, to help Aunt May with bills and stuff.”

“That’s nice of you,” Harry says. He didn’t even know Peter was into photography, and to be selling his photos to New York’s most popular publication means he must be pretty good at it. Harry’s not surprised. Peter’s always been good at everything. “So, how are your aunt and uncle doing?”

Peter rubs his hands back and forth on his jeans, and he has a pained expression painted all across his face. “Uncle Ben, he uh-, well he-, he died last year, Harry.”  
Harry’s mouth drops open, and his heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry, Peter. I had no idea. I wish I could have been there for you.”

“I know,” Peter whispers, patting Harry’s knee once, then shoves his hand in his coat pocket.

“How, umm, just how?” Harry asks, still not able to form words properly because his throat feels so damn dry.

“Somebody shot him. The guy was robbing a store, he was trying to carjack Uncle Ben, Uncle Ben said no, so the guy just shot him.” Peter looks out towards the water, his forearms resting on his thighs, hands clasped together in front of him.

Harry looks away and tries to compose himself. Peter doesn’t need to see him cry right now. He just feels so bad for him. He’s lost his parents, and now, Peter’s lost the only other father he’s ever known. 

Harry runs a comforting hand across Peter’s back, and grips his left shoulder gently. “I’m so sorry, Peter. Why didn’t yo-, why didn’t you uh-, tell me when it happened?” Harry had decided after his third year away that he never wanted to step foot in New York City for a long time, but if Peter had called and said that he needed him, he would have been on his computer, booking the first flight out.

“I don’t know, Harry. I thought about it, but it had just been so long for us. I still can’t quite believe you’re here now,” Peter says, rubbing his hand roughly over his face. “You know after the phone calls stopped, and the emails stopped, I guess I just tried to move on.” Harry removes his hands from Peter’s shoulder and swallows loudly. He can’t say he blames Peter, he tried to do the same, but it kind of hurts hearing it. Because no matter how much Harry tried to move on and forget, it never worked. Maybe Peter had actually succeeded.

“Our lives were just going in two different directions, and I didn’t know if I would ever see you again,” Peter continues, bouncing his right leg up and down, nervously. “I didn’t know if you would come back to New York, and if you did, I didn’t know if you would still want to be friends with me. So, I started making some other friends, and after Uncle Ben, I started throwing myself into other things, just so I could keep my mind off it. I’m sorry, Harry,” Peter sighs, throwing his head back, and closing his eyes.

“It’s okay, Peter. I understand,” Harry says, inching a bit closer to Peter, and turning his body to face him. “You know, but I’m back now. For good. I’m not leaving again. And, I know we lost touch over the years, so it’s a bit weird between us, but it doesn’t have to be this weird. I still consider you my best friend, and from what you said at school, you still consider me your best friend. You see? It can be simple,” Harry finishes, hoping Peter will drop his mute act.

Peter considers him for a few moments, eyes rapidly flicking over his face, as if he’s committing every detail to memory, and finally, finally, a genuine Peter Park smile blooms on his face. “Geez, Osborn, when did you become the smart one in this relationship?” Peter asks, smacking him lightly on the arm.

“Hate to break it to you, Pete, but I’ve always been the smart one in this relationship,” Harry replies, shoving a hand through his hair. Peter snorts, and proceeds to laugh loudly, and man, Harry missed that laugh. He almost forgot what it sounded like.

He feels himself being pulled into Peter’s warm, and surprisingly strong, embrace, and they are both hanging on to each other like they haven’t seen each other in years, since, well, they haven’t. Peter tightens his grip around Harry even more, and he’s probably cutting off his circulation, but Harry doesn’t care. No one has hugged him like this in so long. Six years, to be exact.

“I missed you so much,” Peter whispers into his ear, ruffling his hair with his warm breath, and Harry buries his face into Peter’s neck. He inhales the familiar scent of him. Apples, cheap soap, even cheaper cologne, and just a hint of cedar wood. 

This is home, Harry thinks. This is why whenever someone asked him where home was, he would automatically say New York City, even though he felt no particular tie to the place. It just reminded him of his father, and anything that reminded him of his father was plain awful. But, as long as Peter was here, New York would be his home, because Peter was his home. Home wasn’t a place to Harry, it was a person. If Peter decided to move to the North Pole tomorrow, then the next time somebody asked Harry where his home was, he would reply the North Pole, because it would move along with Peter. He kind of wants to hug his father now, which is something he never has the urge to do, because without him demanding that Harry come back, he wouldn’t be here right now, with this boy, on a park bench in the middle of February.

“I missed you so much, Peter,” Harry breathes out, burying his face in Peter’s neck once more. 

\----------

Once Harry gets back into the swing of things, and he and Peter stop walking on eggshells around each other, he decides that life back in New York City isn’t as horrible as he thought it would be. He hasn’t had much in the way of training to become the next Oscorp CEO, which just cements his belief that his father is hiding something. His father has had him sit in on a couple of board meetings here and there, but that’s as much as he’s gotten, and it’s just as well, because if everything is going to be as boring as those meetings then he rather not.

It’s a cool day in March, and Harry is walking down 5th Avenue, when he sees a blur of red and blue whiz right past his head. He immediately looks up from his phone, and follows the red and blue vision with his eyes. Spider-Man.

Harry had heard of Spider-Man of course, but he never put much thought into the masked web-slinger, and he always ignored the constant headlines splashed across The Daily Bugle’s front page calling Spider-Man a menace, irresponsible, a good for nothing vigilante, etc. So, this is the first time he’s actually seen him in action.

Harry follows Spider-Man, until he sees the masked man stop a few blocks away, and drop down into the chaos. From the looks of it two guys tried to rob the Bank of America in broad daylight, and now the police have boxed them in to prevent their escape. Harry can’t see everything clearly, given that civilians have been roped off far enough away to keep them safe, but he sees the moment when the two would-be bank robbers start shooting bullets at Spider-Man and he dodges them effortlessly. 

He starts scanning the crowd, and his eyes land on a shock of blonde hair standing about a block away from the action, and what the hell? Gwen! He has no idea how she managed to evade the blockade the police set up, but she is clearly in the wrong place. Spider-Man is swinging around on his webs, the robbers are shooting at him and still missing, when suddenly a store sign hanging overhead, that had taken one too many stray bullets, starts speeding towards Gwen. 

Harry is halfway over the police barricade, when Spider-Man swoops Gwen off the ground and places her down far away enough from the danger. He sees the masked hero frantically sweep his hands over her hair and her face, and then he starts to shake her a bit, presumably asking her if she’s okay. If Harry didn’t know any better, he would think Spider-Man knows Gwen personally. He definitely looks just as freaked as the girl does. Once he finishes his thorough survey, Spider-Man swings back into the fray and finishes webbing the robbers together, handing them over to the police.

Harry makes his way over to Gwen, and the girl looks a bit shaken. “Gwen, oh my god! Are you okay?” he asks, checking her over for physical damage. “Harry! Hey, yeah, I’m fine. Just a bit spooked. I wasn’t expecting for a Duane Reade sign to come barreling towards my head,” she says, chuckling a bit.

“Do you want me to call someone for you? I can call my driver, he can take you home if you want,” Harry offers, feeling like he should try to do something. “Oh no, it’s al-,” Gwen replies, but is interrupted by a police officer rushing towards them.

“Gwen, honey, are you okay? What are you even doing here?” the officer rushes out, moving Gwen’s hair out of her face.

“I’m fine, dad, really. I’m not hurt,” Gwen says, patting her father’s arm soothingly. Dad? Oh right, Gwen had said something about her dad being the police captain. “Dad, this is Harry Osborn. He’s one of my friends at Midtown. Harry, this is my father, George Stacy.”

“Harry Osborn,” Captain Stacy says, reaching out to shake Harry’s hand. “That’s right, I had heard you were back in town. How are you liking it?”

“It’s been good, sir,” Harry replies, being as formal as he can, because honestly, the man’s a bit intimidating. 

“Good to hear,” the captain says. “Well, it was nice to meet you Harry, but I think I’m going to take Gwen home now.”

“See you tomorrow at school, Harry,” Gwen waves, as her father snugly places his arm around her shoulders, and guides her away.

The next day at school, Peter seems a bit, well a lot, skittish around, not only Harry, but Gwen and MJ as well. He’s only said a few words to them all day, and he dodges them at lunch, claiming he needs to go to the library to work on a report. The next week brings much of the same, and the next, and the next. The only thing that has gotten any different is that now he only seems to be solely ignoring Harry. He seems to be back to normal with Gwen and MJ. 

Peter keeps bowing out to the library to avoid having to see him anytime they aren’t in class, ignoring Harry’s attempts to accompany him a few times, and Harry is quite frankly sick of it.

So, he takes matters into his own hands, and corners Peter after school. He grabs Peter’s backpack strap, so he won’t run out right as soon as the bell rings, and hauls him off to the back of the school, so they could get some semblance of privacy.

“Harry, what the hell are you doing?” Peter asks confused, pushing Harry’s hands off his backpack.

“What the hell am I doing? Peter, what the hell are you doing? Or have you not noticed that you’ve been completely ignoring me lately? I don’t for a second believe that you apparently have had twenty reports to work on these past few weeks,” Harry says, running his hand through his hair frantically, several times. Peter is leaning against the wall, head bowed, with his eyebrows furrowed.

“I mean, Pete, did I do something?” Harry asks desperately. He’s been trying to rack his brain for something he did wrong, but he’s coming up empty.

“No, Harry, you didn’t do anything,” Peter replies dejectedly. “I’m sorry. I’ve just had a lot going on these past few weeks with school, and helping Aunt May. I’ve been trying to pick up odd jobs here and there, since the money from my photographs isn’t enough.”

“Peter, if you need money, you could’ve asked. I want to help you and Aunt May anyway I can.” He really would give Peter as much money as he needed because Peter’s the one person who has never wanted it. He’s not friends with Harry because of his name or his wealth, he’s friends with Harry because he wants to be, and Harry will do anything for his best friend.

“Harry, thanks, but I don’t want your money,” Peter sighs, rubbing a hand across his face. “Sorry, I haven’t been myself lately. I’m just tired is all.”

Harry understands. He knows that when he’s exhausted he doesn’t want to do anything or be around anybody, but it doesn’t explain why Peter’s only been ignoring him. He’ll let it go for now though because Peter appears to be shrinking further and further into himself.

“It’s okay, Pete, just don’t ignore me anymore, alright? And if you need help, ask me,” Harry says, knowing that Peter won’t. He’s always had it in his head that he needs to deal with his problems alone ever since his parents left. A habit Harry’s tried to break him of, but he’s failed so far.

“Plus, you know I think Gwen and MJ are great, but I can only handle so much of them by myself.” Peter laughs at that, and mumbles out a “stupid” as he punches Harry’s arm lightly.

“I promise not to ignore you anymore,” Peter smiles, swinging his arm around Harry and leading them towards the walkway. 

\----------

True to his word, Peter has stopped evading Harry, and the number of trips he takes to the library every day has gone down to zero, but there is something different about him. Well, there’s something different about Peter and Gwen, to be more specific.

At first Harry thought he was just imagining things that weren’t there, but now he knows he was just being deliberately clueless, because Peter seems kind of smitten with Gwen, and she seems to be smitten with him in return. And, great, now Harry’s using words like smitten.

He’s sees the two of them constantly laughing together at Gwen’s locker. Gwen leaning back with her books placed in front of her, while Peter tilts in and makes a comment that has Gwen throwing her head back in laughter. The laugh Peter has always told her he loves. Peter’s always been awkwardly charming, so he doesn’t know if he’s intentionally flirting or if Peter doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. But, Harry notices the two of them whispering in the corner sometimes, and they immediately stop talking whenever someone approaches them. He also notices that they seem to be hugging a lot more lately. Gwen whispering in Peter’s ear, presumably soothing words, while Peter nods along. 

He wants to ask Peter straight out if there’s anything going on between them, but it’s none of his business. But, more than that, he’s afraid to know the answer, and that is what has been confusing the hell out of him because why the fuck should he care? Peter’s his best friend, and Gwen is beautiful and brilliant, but he doesn’t like her in that way, so why does it bother him so much? 

He’s walking down the hallway to put his book in his locker, when he sees Peter and Gwen in a nearby corner together, whispering as usual. Harry watches as Gwen chucks Peter under his chin, getting him to smile a little, and then she places her hand against his cheek, brushes her thumb gently across it, and then she leaves with a wave.

Harry slams the locker closed with a bit more force than is necessary, and he takes deep breaths to calm himself down. Harry has tried explaining away these less than unpleasant feelings he’s been having, and rationalizing it in his own mind, but he’s just prolonging the inevitable realization that he might possibly have a crush on his best friend, and that is the absolute worst!

Not because he has a crush on a guy, because he did go to an all boys boarding school for six years, and he’s seen some things, and done some things himself. He’s made out with a few guys, and even slept with one, so it’s not a big deal to him. But, that’s not the problem here. 

The problem is that this isn’t just some guy, it’s Peter, and from all that Harry’s known and seen, especially lately, is that his best friend is solely into girls. And, even if one day Peter would miraculously have a crush on Harry, he doesn’t know if he would even want to do anything about it. He’s never been in an actual relationship before. It’s always been easier for him to get out before any real feelings start getting involved, so if he and Peter ever were in a relationship, he’d probably screw it up in a way only an Osborn can. 

Or maybe Harry doesn’t have a crush on Peter, his feelings are just misplaced. That’s a very potential possibility, given that Harry’s always believed Peter’s the only person that actually cares about him unconditionally. Yeah, that sounds good. The feelings are just misplaced, and he’ll get over them in no time. Or, maybe he’s just lying to himself again. Jesus, Harry’s going to have a panic attack in the school hallway. How embarrassing.

“Harry,” he hears a voice say from a long way away, and when did this school turn into an underwater tunnel? “Earth to Harry. Can you hear me?”

He takes a few deep breaths through his nose, swallows a few times for good measure, and his vision is starting to become focused again. “Harry,” the voice says again more urgently, and it’s Peter. Of course it’s Peter, with his concerned puppy look, snapping his fingers in front of Harry’s face.

“I’m fine, Pete,” Harry says roughly, smacking Peter’s hand away. He pops open an extra button on the top of his shirt so he can breathe a bit easier, especially now that Peter fucking Parker is standing so close to him.

“Okay,” Peter says in long, drawn-out syllables, clearly not believing that Harry is fine. “Because to me it kind of looked like you were on the verge of a panic attack.”  
“I’m fine,” Harry repeats, stepping back to create some distance between them. “I just didn’t get a lot of sleep last night, and I had headache in first period, but I’m feeling better now, so don’t worry.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to go to the nurse?” Peter asks, and he looks like he’s about to reach out his hand and check Harry’s temperature or something, so Harry steps back even further before that can happen.

“No, I’m good,” Harry replies, starting to walk down the hall. “I’ll see you in physics, okay Pete?”

“Har-,” Peter starts to say, but Harry interrupts him with a curt, “I’m gonna be late,” and dashes off to class. He steps around the hallway, out of Peter’s eyesight, and starts banging his head against the first locker he sees. He is so fucked.

\----------

Over the next few weeks, Harry tries his absolute best to act normal around Peter after the massive fucking revelation he had, and he thinks he might be failing, because Peter has started to draw into himself again, ignoring anyone who isn’t Gwen or MJ.

He’s walking down the hall, and sees Peter and Gwen by her locker again. Typical, Harry thinks, as he rolls his eyes. He’s about to turn around and walk in the other direction, until the sight of Peter stops him. The kid looks like he got hit by a bus! He has a pretty impressive bruise painting his left cheekbone, a deep cut on his lower lip, another cut above his right eyebrow, and a gash that starts at his collarbone and disappears underneath his shirt.

“Peter, what the fuck happened to you?” Harry shouts in his face, and he’s not completely sure when he walked over here. Peter looks like a deer in the headlights, and he’s flicking his gaze towards Gwen, silently pleading with her to help him.

“Harry! I uh, I um, I fell off my skateboard,” Peter says, and he almost sounds triumphant. As if he’s proud of himself for quickly coming up with something that is an obvious lie.

“You fell off your ska-,” Harry laughs, unable to even finish the sentence because it’s so ridiculous. “You fell off your skateboard on to what Peter? A pile of broken glass?”

“No, I uh,” Peter stutters out, “I slid into a wall and couldn’t stop myself in time, and I also hit my face on a ramp.”

Harry would punch Peter in the face if he weren’t already so banged up due to the complete and utter bullshit he’s currently spewing.

“Peter, seriously?” Harry asks, letting the boy know that he’s not buying what he’s selling.

“Yeah, umm, well I’ll see you guys later,” Peter yells, as he runs down the hallway, as fast as he can to get away from the conversation. He turns to ask Gwen what the hell is up with Peter, but the girl is scurrying off as well. However, if Harry didn’t know any better, he would say that she almost looked sorry for him.

Peter continues to ignore Harry, Peter continues to come to school looking like he’s just lost a fight with a wall, and life goes on at Midtown High. But, Harry can’t just sit back and do nothing while Peter’s looking like he’s going to show up in a full-body cast any day now. Harry is a lot pissed off at him for ignoring him again, after he said he wouldn’t, but he’s more concerned than anything.

So, he decides to follow Peter after school one day to see what he’s been up to. Harry tells himself he’s not being creepy, he’s just being helpful. Because Peter has obviously gotten himself mixed up in some shit he can’t get out of, and Harry wants to help him. 

When Peter leaves school, Harry follows him to a coffee shop a few blocks away, walking far enough behind so hopefully Peter won’t notice, and he slips into an outdoor table belonging to the diner across the street. He doesn’t want to be too obvious, so he settles for keeping an eye on Peter from a slight distance, instead of going into the shop with him. He can see Peter looking up from his laptop every once in a while, presumably watching whatever news channel the TV is switched to, and they each stay in their respective seats for about an hour, until he sees Peter rushing out of the shop, barely remembering to stuff his laptop into his backpack.  
Harry runs after him, following Peter to an alleyway, and stops before entering it himself. He sees Peter look around once and then disappear behind the dumpster. To say Harry is confused would be an understatement. But, just a few seconds later, he sees Peter step from behind the dumpster, finishing slipping a mask on his face, before climbing up the wall and swinging away. 

Holy motherfucking hell! Peter is Spider-Man! Peter Parker is Spider-Man! Peter fucking Parker is Spider fucking Man! Harry leans against the nearest wall, and he’s having a lot of trouble breathing. Does he have asthma? This would be a shit time to find out. He starts to tug at the collar of his shirt, and blindly searches in his bag for the water bottle he always keeps in there, taking a few sips, before finally calming down.

He contemplates following Peter to wherever he swung off to. He can hear the sirens close by, but he decides to stay where he is. Peter left his backpack behind the dumpster, so he’ll have to come back for it, and Harry will be right there waiting.

After 20 minutes and one semi-mental breakdown later, Peter creeps into the alleyway, as Harry watches from his initial spot. He lets Peter get dressed, and right as he’s walking away, Harry pops up in front of him.

“Shit!” Peter sputters out, as he trips backwards on his own feet, banging his back against the metal trashcan. He hasn’t seen Peter be this clumsy in a long time. He kind of misses it.

“Yeah,” Harry says, leveling him with a glare that could rival his father’s, and crosses his arms in front of him. “Were you ever planning on telling me that you moonlight as a wall crawler?”

“Harry, I can explain,” Peter says, straightening out the rumpled mess that is his clothes.

“Please,” Harry replies, waving his hand in front of him, before tucking it back into the crook of his elbow.

Peter gives him the short version, or so he says. He was on a class field trip at Oscorp last year, snuck off into one of the restricted labs, got bitten by a radioactive spider, and wham bam, he’s Spider-Man.

Harry can only process one thing at a time because his head feels like it’s spinning, so he focuses on the part where Peter didn’t tell him. This is the kind of thing you tell your best friend, Harry thinks, and it should have been one of the first things Peter told him.

“I see,” Harry says calmly. “Well then, I’ll go back to my first question. Were you ever planning on telling me?”

“No,” Peter sighs, stuffing his hands into his pockets, and kicking an aluminum can on the ground. 

“No,” Harry repeats. “Okay, why?”

“Harry,” Peter sighs again, looking at Harry with a mixture of frustration and concern. “Do you even know how much danger you would be in if I told you? There’s a reason I wear a mask you know? How did you even-, wait were you following me?”

“Of course, I followed you Peter!” Harry exclaims, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “You start ignoring me again, and then you come to school looking like you joined a fight club, what the hell else was I supposed to do?”

“Harry, I’m sorry I’ve been ignoring you again,” Peter apologizes. “I don’t mean to. It’s just things are, well they’re complicated right now, and I didn’t want to involve you.”

“Well, you don’t seem to have any problems with involving Gwen.” Harry tries to stop himself from making the jab, he really does, but he’s just so frustrated with this idiot in front of him.

“That’s cuz Gwen knows,” Peter whispers, playing with the hem of his t-shirt. 

“Of course she does.” Harry lets out a bitter laugh, dragging his hand roughly down his face, not quite believing he’s having the conversation he’s having.

“I didn’t know what to do! I was so scared when this happened! I didn’t know who to talk to, and Gwen was the first person I thought of who could help me. She’s smarter than me for one, and I thought she could help me figure out what was happening to me.”

Harry can understand that, he supposes. He doesn’t know what he would have done if he was in Peter’s shoes. “Does MJ know?”

“Yes,” Peter replies, almost as if he’s afraid to say it.

Harry let’s out an incredulous laugh, because oh my god, seriously? Everyone knew but him?

“I didn’t tell her!” Peter rushes out. “She was over at Gwen’s house one of the nights I crawled through her window so she could patch me up, and it’s not like I could exactly hide the fact that I was bleeding out on Gwen’s carpet. She’s only known for a few months though.” He says it like that’s supposed to appease Harry somehow.

“So, why couldn’t you tell me, Peter?” he asks, and he sounds hurt. Well good. He wants Peter to know.

“It was too dangerous.”

“Oh, fucking spare me the bullshit, okay Pete?”

“It’s not bullshit, Harry, it’s true! Do you know how much danger you would be in if anyone ever found out you knew who I was? I’m already worried enough about Gwen, MJ, I didn’t want to have to worry about you too! But, now you’ve giving me no fucking choice, Nancy Drew!”

Harry’s a bit afraid that Peter is a breath away from exploding given how loud he’s shouting. Harry tries to calm himself down some, knowing that they’ll just go in circles if their yelling match continues.

“Okay, Peter. Well I know now, and there’s nothing you can do about that, but it can be a good thing. I can help you with whatever you need.”

“Hell no!” Peter exclaims, looking like a rabid deer. “No, no, no, absolutely not, no!”

“What do you mean no?” Harry asks, dumbfounded. “I have resources at my disposal that neither Gwen or MJ can get their hands on, and by the looks of it, things are getting worse for you, so I can help. We can design you some better webshooters, or an enhanced suit, or something.”

Harry doesn’t know what the problem is. He’s being perfectly rational and reasonable, but Peter’s refusing to listen.

“Look, I appreciate the offer Harry, but the answer is still no,” Peter exhales, slumping down on the wall a bit. “You’re already in enough danger knowing who I am, I can’t involve you anymore. I won’t.”

“Uggh, Peter, come o-”

“No, Harry. You’re not listening to me,” Peter says, gripping Harry’s arms and shaking him slightly. “Do you have any idea, any fucking idea, of what I would do if something happened to you because of me?”

“Pete, I-”

“I wouldn’t be able to handle it, okay? I just wouldn’t. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if something happened to you, so I need you to listen to me for once in your life, and stay out of this. Please,” Peter begs, cupping the back of Harry’s neck with one hand, making him look right at him. His eyes look watery, but that could be a trick of the light.

“Fine,” Harry says, more to appease Peter, rather than out of any promise that he’s going to stay out of it. He understands his friend’s concerns, he really does, but Harry could turn his argument against him. Because Harry doesn’t know what he would do if something happened to Peter. He can’t even think about it. So, he’s going to try to protect him when the dumb idiot can’t do it himself.

“Okay. Look, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but it’s-”

“It’s dangerous. I know,” Harry finishes for him, cocking his head to one side.

Peter looks like he wants to cry, or hit something, or curl up in a ball right here in the filthy alleyway, or maybe he wants to do all three, but before Harry can think too much on it, Peter is hauling him in to a tight hug, reminiscent of the one they shared on the park bench.

Peter rubs his hand up and down his back a few times before whispering, “Harry, you have to be careful, okay? Please. Promise me.”

Harry lets out a breath, slumping against Peter a bit more, and his arms reflexively grip tighter. 

“I promise.” 

\----------

Things got better at school because now instead of Peter and Gwen awkwardly stopping their whispering when Harry approached, they started including him in their conversations. Harry could tell Peter was still wary about having him involved in any capacity, but Gwen and MJ took turns in talking some sense into him.

Apparently, the reason Peter has been looking a little rough around the edges lately is because a new supervillain has come out of the woodwork called the Green Goblin, or so The Daily Bugle had dubbed him. And how weird is Harry’s life now, that the terms “superhero,” “supervillain,” “pumpkin bombs,” and “vigilante” are now a part of his everyday conversations?

There has to be something they’re missing. All four of them have been putting their heads together to try and figure out the Green Goblin’s identity, but they keep coming up empty. When Harry gets home from school one day, he goes straight up to his room and holes up there the entire night, researching until his eyes burn. The internet is useless. It just leads to false trails and all the pictures available make Harry believe he’s looking at images of the Loch Ness monster.

Harry spins around on his desk chair, and buries his face in his hands in frustration and exhaustion. He has to do something though. He can’t stand seeing Peter so beat up anymore. He’s surprised their teachers haven’t called the police, or maybe they think Peter is just the worst skateboarder in the world, with the balance of a newborn Bambi. But, Peter can only stand being slashed and beaten up so much every night, until one day he doesn’t get up.

Well he’s not a billionaire and heir to Oscorp for nothing. So, he sneaks out of the mansion late at night, and makes his way over to Oscorp tower to see if he can get his hands on anything that can help Peter. He’s coming up with nothing down in the regular research labs, so he decides to sneak up to the restricted labs just in case. After all, Peter got bitten by that spider in one of those labs, maybe Harry can find something there to help him.

When he gets up to the top floor, he notices that there’s flashing lights coming from a room down the hall. So he tiptoes towards the room, and peers his head between the door and the doorframe to get a better look.

Harry starts to think that maybe he should stop expecting the metaphorical rug not to be pulled out from under him. Because there, hovering in mid-air on the infamous goblin glider, and donning a green-tinted metal suit, is his father. This is fucking unbelievable. He can barely hear his father yelling orders at some of his employees asking them to make this and that adjustment through the roaring in his ears. The walls are lined with vials filled with some sort of green serum, there are glass cases overflowing with the famous “pumpkin bombs” The Bugle is always going on about, and one of the researchers is putting finishing touches on what seems to be a three-pronged, razor-sharp blade.

This is why his father brought him back. Either because he wants to relieve himself of his CEO duties, and pawn it off on Harry, so he can make being a crazy-ass supervillain his full-time occupation. Or, he wants Harry to join him in his half-baked Goblin endeavor. Well if that’s true, Harry knows how that conversation is gonna go. And then it hits him like a ton of bricks. His father isn’t just terrorizing the people of New York City, he’s trying, and has almost succeeded in, killing his best friend.

He makes his way as quickly and quietly as he can out of Oscorp tower and sprints back to the mansion. He collapses onto his bed in a sweaty heap and massages his temples a few times to stop the shooting pain going through his head.

Harry has no idea how everything went so wrong. Did his father just wake up one morning, and decide, hey, I’m going to kill Spider-Man today and strap on a goblin mask to do it? Maybe he should have noticed something was amiss. His father hadn’t looked like himself lately. He always looked haggard and just a bit pale. He had also gotten more irritable if that was even possible. But, Harry tried to spend as much time away from his father as he could, never wanting to deal with him when he didn’t absolutely have to.

He had to tell Peter that his father has been the one trying to kill him for the past two months, and he can’t even imagine how that conversation is going to go. How does he even start? A small voice in his head starts talking about loyalty to his father, but he blocks that out because if he has loyalty to anyone, it’s Peter.

He grabs a pillow from under the covers and slams it over his head. Harry would be so grateful if his life were a bit less complicated right now.

\----------

Peter sits on his couch staring at the wall across from him in stunned silence, and yeah that looks about right. Harry decided he wasn’t going to get any sleep that night, so he hopped on a subway to Queens at 1 o’clock in the morning, and banged loudly on Peter’s door until Harry was greeted with his sleep-rumpled and extremely irritated best friend. Luckily, Aunt May was pulling a night shift at the hospital she had recently become a nurse at, so he only had to deal with one annoyed Parker.

Harry had immediately gone to the kitchen, poured Peter an ice-cold glass of water, because he needed to be completely alert for this conversation, and slapped his face a little when it looked like Peter was going to start dozing on the kitchen table. Once he was satisfied Peter was fully coherent and functioning, he sat the boy down on the couch and explained to him, in rushed sentences, about his father.

Peter hasn’t said a word, and the silence is starting to get a tad bit uncomfortable. “Okay, Peter, you have to say something, and now would be a good time to do it,” Harry says, sitting down on the edge of the coffee table directly in front of Peter.

“Are you, uh, I mean, are you sure?” Peter stutters out, refusing to make eye contact with Harry.

Let’s see. Was Harry sure? Yes, Harry was sure! He’s not going to be able to get the image of his father suspended in mid-air in the middle of his lab out of his head for probably ever. “I’m sure, Pete. It’s him.”

“How?”

“I honestly don’t know. I mean, I wouldn’t have even known about this if I hadn’t decided to sneak into the tower and go up to the restricted labs.”

Peter nods, and worries his bottom lip between his teeth. He starts bouncing his leg up and down rapidly, and twists his bony fingers together. Harry wants to place a comforting hand over Peter’s in an attempt to calm him, but something stops him.

“What do we do, Pete?” he asks, letting out a deep exhale, ruffling the bangs that have fallen over his forehead in the process.

Peter gives no sign that he even heard the question. He just keeps twining his fingers together, and now he’s starting to draw blood on his lip from where he’s biting it so hard.

“Peter,” Harry says forcefully, gripping Peter’s chin tightly, forcing the other boy to look at him, because regardless of what his feelings are here, they need to figure out a plan. But, Peter keeps averting his eyes, in spite of the hold Harry has on him. “Look at me, okay? Focus. What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know,” Peter whispers, and Harry hates this. He can’t stand to see and hear Peter so defeated.

“Pete, he’s getting stronger every day. With the amount of bombs I saw, and the other weapons I am sure are in his personal arsenal, he’s not going to run out of ammo for a while. We need to stop him, okay? And we can do it.”

“No,” Peter says, making eye contact with Harry for the first time since he broke the news.

“What do you mean no? We can do this, Peter.”

“No, I mean, we’re not doing anything. I am. Me.” Peter shakes out of Harry’s grasp, and stands up on shaky legs, so he’s towering over him now.

“Fuck you, Parker!”

“Harry, I’ve already told you. It’s dan-”

“Dangerous, I know! I don’t need to hear the danger lecture from you again. It’s so fucking exhausting, and I’m already lacking precious hours of sleep,” he says, standing up to his full height to show Peter he’s not going to be intimidated.

“Harry, I know you don’t like to hear it, but it’s true, and now you’re in more danger now than you were when you found out about me. This is your father, Harry! What if he finds out you know about him, huh?” Peter looks positively livid. He kind of looks like he wants to start throwing punches. “Or what if he finds out you know about me? What do you think he’ll expect?” Peter doesn’t even let Harry answer, before he’s rushing on to his next point. “He’s probably gonna expect you to join him, and when you don’t, what do you think he’s going to do? He’s losing it, Harry. Whatever serum he’s been injecting into himself to make him stronger is messing with his brain. He’ll hurt you to get to me! He won’t care!”

“Okay, Peter, let’s just slow down for a second, and rewind to the part before you started your little game of twenty questions.” Harry needs to steer this discussion into a place grounded in facts and reason, rather than Peter’s incessant litany of DANGER! MUST PROTECT! DANGER! MUST PROTECT!

“This is a good thing, don’t you think? We know who he is, and we know where he’s getting his resources, and I just so happen to have access to that place. We can, I don’t know, sneak into his lab again and destroy everything. Smash the vials, take apart the glider, disarm the bombs, and then turn his ass over to a mental hospital or a maximum security prison.” Harry wouldn’t lose any sleep if his father was hauled off to one of those places. He should be surprised by how cold and callous he’s being, but he stopped being surprised about the amount of disdain and hatred he has for Norman Osborn a long time ago.

“You really think it’ll be that easy?” Peter asks, quirking an eyebrow at him, to show Harry that he’s somewhat less than impressed.

“I’m not saying it’ll be easy, Pete, but it’s something. I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, but you haven’t been faring very well against him, and I’m not going to let you go out there again to fight him, relying on your own dumbass luck.” Judging by the injuries that are constantly littering Peter’s body, he’s had more than one close call, and it makes Harry’s heart seize in his chest every time he thinks of it.

“Fine,” Peter relents. “But, Harry, you can’t hel-”

“Peter, save it, okay. I’m not backing down from this. So, you can either help me take my father down, or I’m doing it myself. Your choice.”

Peter is silently pleading with him to think about what he’s saying, but Harry’s always been the more stubborn one out of the two. Once he sets his mind on something, he goes after it with ferocity.

“Of course I’ll help you,” Peter mumbles, and it looks like it’s causing him physical pain to even say those words.

“Good.”

\----------

Despite their shaky truce, the two boys ignore each other all weekend. Well, it’s more like Peter ignores Harry, after his various texts and phone calls go unanswered. But, the following Monday, Harry and Peter sneak off to the library during lunch, for once actually going to where Peter says they are, to work on their tentative plan. Luckily, it was the last week of school, so they could stop pretending that they actually gave a shit about Mr. Ross’ lectures when they were dealing with life-altering situations. 

They decided not to tell Gwen and MJ about the recent development because Peter didn’t need to have his focus even further divided by worrying about three people rather than just one. Harry’s reasoning was much simpler. He just didn’t want them knowing his father was the Green Goblin yet. He wanted to put off that humiliation a little longer.

He followed Peter home from school, so they could start planning out the details of their takedown, which Peter was still clearly uncomfortable with, when everything went to hell. A breaking news alert interrupted the TV show neither of them were watching to report that the Green Goblin was at it again. This time taking hostages in a store near lower Manhattan, and he was issuing a declaration for Spider-Man to either come face him, or he would have these people’s blood on his hands.

Harry looked at Peter with wide eyes, and he had the sudden urge to tie him to the chair he was currently sitting in. “Looks like I’m up,” Peter says, stripping off his shirt to reveal the suit underneath. “I’ll be back.”

“What the -, what are -, what do you mean, I’ll be back? I’m coming with you!”

“Oh my god.” Peter lets out an incredulous laugh, and runs a hand roughly through his hair. They both probably feel like they’ve had this same conversation about twenty times. “Look, helping you devise a plan so we can sneak into Oscorp and destroy your dad’s dastardly resources is one thing,” Peter says, and Harry would make a joke about saying that five times fast if this were any other time. “Taking you along to an active and extremely volatile crime scene is another.”

“So, what, I’m your dutiful little wife waiting patiently for you to get back from war?” Peter gives Harry a questioning look, most likely wondering how that in any way relates to their current situation.

“Okay, I’m going to pretend like you didn’t just say that, and as much as I would love to sit here and fight with you some more about this, I’ve gotta go. Stay here, Harry. I mean it.”

“Peter-”

“Stay here, Harry!” Peter yells, and webs Harry’s right hand to the kitchen cabinet, before he’s rushing out the back door. Asshole.

Peter’s mind must have already been on the situation he was swinging off to, because if he was thinking clearly, he would have thought to web both of Harry’s hands to the cabinet, especially when he’s standing in a kitchen filled with knives. It takes him a bit longer than he would appreciate to get the stringy mess off his hand, but the webbing is pretty strong and resistant.

Harry immediately hails a cab, and makes his way towards the scene. When he finally gets there, he quickly gets wrangled behind a barrier as soon as he tries to make his way into the fray. 

The place looks like a fucking war zone. Every shop window in a five block radius is blown out, the S.W.A.T. team and FBI agents are running all over the place in controlled chaos, and he sees explosions going off from his father’s stupid pumpkin bombs in the distance. But the one thing he doesn’t see is the familiar red and blue of Spider-Man’s suit, and he starts to feel his throat close up. The idiot better be perched up on a roof somewhere.

He finally sees Peter jump down from a building, shooting web after web at the glider in an attempt to bring it down, but it’s not having any effect. Every web gets immediately sliced off by tiny blades that eject from the bottom of the glider. Then, the Goblin throws a small disk that erupts with a yellow gas as soon as it hits the ground, and he uses the momentary distraction to haul Peter up by his neck, flying them high above the ground, as Peter grapples with the vice-like grip.

And fuck police barriers. Harry jumps over, running towards Peter and his father in the hope that he can create a diversion or something. But before he can do anything, the Goblin releases a bomb into the crowd of cops below, just before Peter gets loose, and suddenly Harry is getting blown back by the explosion, landing against the tire of a destroyed car.

His head feels like it’s going to pop open, and he keeps blinking trying to get his vision to focus, but it’s no use. He can’t even open his fucking eyes. His ears are ringing, and he can vaguely hear the distant screams of bystanders and the pained moans of the agents hit by the blast. He tries to stand up, but every move he makes feels like it’s going to send his stomach right up his throat.

Then he hears a frantic voice that sounds like it’s coming from a long way away, but he can feel rough hands touching his face and arms, so he guesses it’s not. He can hear the voice calling out his name, but he can barely concentrate enough to identify it. The hands feel familiar though.

“Harry, open your eyes!” the voice says. “Harry, please, open your eyes! Please!” He feels those familiar hands push his bangs back from his eyes, and trace a path over his cheekbone and across his chin. Then, he feels two fingers press against the pulse point on his neck, and another two fingers press against the pulse in his wrist. 

The voice keeps yelling at him to open his eyes, to please open his eyes, and Harry wants to, he does, but everything hurts too much, and he’s just so tired. The last thing he hears before he slips into unconsciousness is the voice telling him everything was going to be alright.

\----------

His head is pounding, and his throat is dry as fuck. He feels like drinking no less than three gallons of water immediately. It’ll probably make him piss like a racehorse, but it’ll be worth it. He slowly opens his eyes, and he can barely make out a man in a suit, typing something on his phone, standing in a corner of the unfamiliar room he’s in.

What the fuck happened? “Mr. Osborn,” the man says, attempting to sound soothing. “Do you know where you are?”

“No,” Harry groans out.

“You’re at Mount Sinai Hospital,” the man says, and now Harry recognizes him. His name is Harris, or Harden, or something along those lines, and he’s one of the many goons assigned to his father’s security detail. “Do you remember what happened, Mr. Osborn?”

“Umm, not re-,” he starts to say, until the memories start flooding back. Breaking news report. Hostages. Police. His father. Webs. Bombs. And Peter! Oh my god, Peter!

“Oh my-,” Harry starts to gasp out, before the man is pressing him back down onto the bed by his shoulders. “Please, try to stay calm, Mr. Osborn. The doctor said you would be just fine. We’ve alerted your father that you’re awake, and he should be here shortly.”

Hah! That’s supposed to make him calm down? His father is the last person he wants to see. But there he is, strolling into Harry’s hospital room, with all the fake concern he can muster. “Harry, I’m so happy you’re awake,” his father says, running his hand down Harry’s arm. He just wants to squirm away from the touch.

“Do you remember what happened?” Harry nods curtly, hoping that his unresponsiveness will shoo his father out of his room. “What were you doing there anyway, Harry?”

“I was just walking around, trying to clear my head. I needed a study break. I guess I just ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“I suppose so. Well, I’m very glad you’re alright. You were unconscious for almost four days. You really scared me,” his father finishes with a smile that looks more like a grimace, and Harry just wants to roll his eyes, because he can’t imagine a world where that sentiment would remotely be true.

He wants to ask about Peter. His father doesn’t seem overly chipper, so it doesn’t seem like he succeeded in finally offing Spider-Man, so he wants to know if Peter has come to visit Harry, but he doesn’t want his father to get suspicious. He asks as discreetly as he can. “Did anyone drop by to visit me while I was out?”

“A Miss Stacy and a Miss Watson stopped by to see you, so I let them in for a few minutes, but you needed to rest and recuperate.” 

“That’s nice,” Harry says, remembering to thank the girls for coming to see him once he gets released. “Anyone else?”

“No. My security kept a log of anyone who went in and out of your room. I’ve had two guards posted outside your door and one guard in here with you at all times.”  
So, Peter hadn’t come to see him. Harry was hoping the reason was because Peter got scared off by the guards constantly at his side, rather than because he was ignoring Harry. Again.

But, Peter was ignoring Harry again. Of course. Once he was released, and didn’t have security on his ass 24/7, he went by Peter’s house to see him, and show the stubborn idiot that he was alright. The first few times he knocked on Peter’s door, Aunt May answered and said that she was very sorry, but Peter wasn’t in, and she’d let him know that Harry stopped by. Whenever he went over and Aunt May wasn’t home, his knocks would go unanswered. He knew Peter was avoiding him, and that he had roped his aunt into aiding him, because come on, Harry wasn’t stupid. Was Peter never home?

On his tenth attempt, he knocks on the door, and gets no answer again. So, he picks up the spare key, having known its hiding place since he was 8, and marches right up the stairs to Peter’s room. Harry would love to see Peter try to evade him now.

He swings the door open with enough force that it bangs against the wall behind it. “You couldn’t even send me a get well card, Parker, really?”

“Harry! How did you get in here?” Peter asks, attempting to untangle himself from his bedsheets. He looks horrible. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days. 

“I used the spare key, dumbass. You should really change the hiding place every few years.” Peter looks like he’s seriously contemplating flinging himself out his window. “I would love to hear your excuse for not visiting me when I was in the hospital,” Harry spits out, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“I tried,” Peter whispers. “But, there were guards all around you, so I thought it would be best if I stayed away. I knew you would be alright though.”

“How did you know I would be alright if you didn’t even see me?”

“I did see you,” Peter says sheepishly.

“What do you mean?”

Peter mimes crawling up a wall, and now Harry gets it. Peter crawled up to his window and watched from afar. “Your heartbeat was strong, your pulse was strong, so I knew you would be alright.”

“Okay, so what about these past few days? How come you haven’t been answering the door when I stop by?”

“Harry,” Peter sighs, and god, he can feel the lecture coming.

“Peter, I’m fine. I got a couple of bruises, a few cuts on my face and arms, but I’m fine. Nothing happened to me.”

“Something could have happened to you,” Peter grits out. “If you had been any closer to the blast, you could have been killed. Six agents wound up dead, did you know that?”

Peter steps closer to him now, and his chest is heaving up and down with how badly he’s trying to control his temper. “And, what were you doing there anyway? I told you to stay here.”

“Yea, well, I don’t take orders from you, Spider-Man,” Harry says, unable to avoid making the jab.

“Harry.”

“No, Peter. This is my fight too, alright? This is my father causing all this damage. Do you have any idea how that makes me feel? It makes me feel sick. I want to stop him just as much as you do, if not more.” He hopes Peter can understand just how badly he needs to do this.

Peter’s just staring at him, and Harry can’t make out the expression on his face. It’s something he’s never seen before. He sees Peter raise his arms slightly then drop them back down, and he raises his arms again and drops them back down, and what the hell is he doing? Oh, oh, now Harry knows. Peter places his hands gently on either side of Harry’s face, and he softly brushes his thumb across his cheekbone. He only does it once, but Harry’s body is tingling all over. Things just got very real, very quickly.

“Do you have any idea what it felt like to see your body lying there on the ground, unmoving, while you groaned in pain? Do you have any idea what it felt like to see your blood trailing down to your chin, your neck, and your arms?” Peter punctuates the verbal list by running the thumb of his left hand gently across each area, finally returning his hand to the side of Harry’s head. “I was yelling at you, begging you, to open your eyes, but you couldn’t, and your pulse was so weak. It was so fucking weak, Harry,” Peter whispers, his voice breaking on his name, and he drags his fingers through Harry’s hair, resting his hand on the back of his neck.  
Harry can’t help but notice how close they’re standing. His stupid impulses are telling him to just surge up and kiss Peter, but the part of his brain that desperately fears what might happen if he does, stops him.

“Peter, I’m sorry I scared you. It’s not like I was intentionally running towards a bomb, but it happened, and I’m okay. I’m alive,” Harry says, gripping Peter’s left hand and guiding it to rest over his heart. “I’m alive.”

Peter clenches the fabric of Harry’s shirt in his hand, and his bottom lip is beginning to tremble. Damn, Peter better not cry, because if he starts then Harry will start too. “God, I can’t stop seeing it, Harry. I can’t. Every damn time I close my eyes I see your body lying on the ground. Sometimes I have nightmares, and I’m feeling around for your pulse, and it’s not there. It’s not fucking there, and you’re not breathing. I wake up screaming right before they can take you away from me.”

Peter presses their foreheads together, and he’s cupping Harry’s cheeks in his hands so tightly it’s beginning to hurt, but Harry won’t move them. He doesn’t want to. He gently places his own hands on top of Peter’s, and tangles their fingers together. “I’m sorry,” Harry whispers, not wanting to disturb the intimate moment. “But, Peter, please don’t ask me to stay out of it because I won’t. I need to do this for me, and I need you to understand that. This is my choice, alright?” 

Peter nods, and Harry can feel the fight leaving him. Then he’s burying his face into Harry’s neck, muffling the sobs that are wracking his body. It’s a bit odd given their height difference, but Peter needs this. Harry wonders how many times Peter has let himself cry, as he’s rapidly blinking away his own tears that are threatening to start streaming down his face at any moment.

“I can’t lose you, Harry. I can’t,” Peter cries, hugging Harry so tightly, it’s as though he’s trying to fuse them together.

“You won’t, Peter. I promise.”

\----------

“So, where are we on the facepaint and leather bodysuits?” Harry asks in an attempt to lighten the mood.

After weeks and weeks of planning, six fairly intense arguments, and one broken cell phone (courtesy of Harry’s frustration and his hatred of walls apparently) later, Harry and Peter were going to break into Oscorp tower tonight.

They were sitting in Peter’s kitchen, and the closer it got to midnight, the tenser Peter became, and they were both a bit more on edge than usual. His father hadn’t tried anything in the weeks after the debacle in lower Manhattan. Things were eerily quiet in New York City, which naturally made both boys extremely nervous. Something had to give sooner or later.

Peter gave a humorless chuckle as a response to Harry’s attempt at a joke. “Come on, Parker, you’re going to give yourself an ulcer.” The crease between Peter’s eyebrows furrowed further, and Harry’s fingers itched to smooth out the wrinkles. He shoved his hand in his pocket instead.

Things were still rocky between them, and Peter had to constantly remind himself that he agreed to let Harry help with the situation. But, he was struggling. It’s as though everything within Peter Parker was screaming at him to do what he thought was right, which was to bundle Harry in bubble wrap and go at this alone.

The plan was for Harry to let himself into the side entrance of the tower, while Peter made his way into the restricted lab from the roof, after Harry had disarmed the alarm. They would gather as much evidence as they could, and hand it over to the NYPD, or FBI, or the fucking White House, whoever it was that could put Norman Osborn away for life, and they would destroy everything else. 

Harry looked over at the clock on the wall, which seemed to be ticking extra loudly, and the time read, 11:15. It was time. Harry was going to make his way over by subway, and Peter was going to make his way over there the way Peter always make his way over to places when he’s in the Spider-Man suit. Harry needed to walk to the subway station now if he was going to catch the train he needed. 

Over the past two weeks, Harry has run the route he’s going to take about thirty times. He’s timed everything out perfectly. How long the train will take to arrive, how long it will take him to make the rest of the way on foot, and even the pace he needs to walk at to assure he’s at the side entrance of Oscorp tower at 11:59 p.m. with 55 seconds to go exactly. He and Peter had double-checked, and triple-checked, and quadruple-checked that their watches were synchronized. They were so serious about this that they even bought themselves electronic watches, because who needs one nowadays when you can just light up the screen of your phone to show you the time?

“Alright, Peter, looks like I’m up. I’ll see you in the lab,” Harry says, smoothing down his shirt, and desperately pretending that his legs didn’t feel like lead. He’s walking towards the archway of the kitchen, when Peter shoots his hand out and grabs his wrist. He runs his thumb gently across the pulse point in his wrist, and Peter’s just staring at him so openly, Harry needs to force himself to focus.

“Harry, please,” Peter exhales, closing his eyes for a brief moment, “be careful.”

“I will, Pete. You be careful.” Harry sometimes wondered if Peter forgot he was still human. It’s as if just because he healed faster than the average person, he thought it was okay for him to get hurt, when it wasn’t. It definitely wasn’t.

“You know me,” Peter whispers, and yes Harry does know Peter, which is exactly why he’s worried. Peter reluctantly releases Harry’s wrist, and Harry marches toward the door. He turns back once more to give Peter a reassuring smile, and closes the door behind him.

Getting into Oscorp tower is surprisingly easy when you’re an Osborn, so that part goes off smoothly, but now he and Peter are standing in the middle of the restricted lab, taking in the scale of what’s around them, and they’re frozen in place. Harry’s mind registers that they probably shouldn’t be gawking when they’re in the middle of highly dangerous mission, but they have no idea where the fuck to start.

“Alright,” Peter says, shaking his head and making his way to the main computer. I’m gonna start backing-up the files on here onto my hard drive, and you should go look in those filing cabinets over there,” he says, pointing to the far end of the room. “With something as secretive as this, your father might have thought old-fashioned was the way to go.”

Harry starts pulling out folder after folder, while Peter is typing so fast on the keyboard, he’s half-worried his fingers are gonna stick to the keys. Again. Harry’s search is coming up empty, until he runs across a folder containing detailed sketches of the glider and its internal mechanics. “Oh, look at this,” Harry says, jogging towards Peter, but he stops cold when the door slams open.

“Son, I would put that down if I were you,” his father spits, striding towards them wearing the Green Goblin suit sans the mask. “Well, what do we have here? My son and Spider-Man raiding my lab. I could have you both arrested for breaking and entering and theft if you’re planning to walk out with those files you’re downloading, Spider-Man.”

“Norman Osborn,” Peter says, calmly walking towards the Goblin with his fists curled by his sides. “Nice to see who’s behind the mask.”

“Yes, well, it seems like you already knew who I was considering you’re here right now. But, I wouldn’t have expected you to rope in an innocent boy into your shenanigans.” Harry snorts at that, and his father whips his head towards him.

“Harry, such a disappointment. You always have been. And, to think I brought you back here to be at my side.”

“Well great,” Harry laughs, suddenly not caring where they are or what they’re here to do. “I wouldn’t want to ruin my impressive streak by doing something you would be proud of.”

“So, that’s what this is about?” his father sneers. “Revenge?”

“Hardly,” Harry scoffs. “I think you overestimate how much I actually care about you.” Norman backhands Harry across the face, and he might as well have rammed his face into a truck, because oh my god, the pain is excruciating. Getting hit with a metal fist is something Harry never wants to experience again. 

Immediately, Peter shoots a web towards his father, and yanks him away from Harry, hard. His father just left a pretty impressive hole in the concrete wall. Then, the case housing the glider shatters to the ground, and the contraption whizzes right over Harry’s head, towards his father, who hurriedly hoists himself on top of it.

“Give it up, Spider-Man,” Norman yells, as he flies towards his precious pumpkin bombs, laughing maniacally. He lobs a bomb towards Peter’s head, but he quickly dives out of the way, avoiding the blast. Peter wraps a web on each of Norman’s wrists, and pulls him off the glider, sending him crashing to the floor, but the glider just comes right back towards him. Looks like his father programmed it with some sort of tracking device, so it would always return to him.

The fight between Peter and Norman is ugly, and messy, and unbelievably uncoordinated. They’re all over the place. Each fighting to get the upper-hand and each failing. Harry wants to help, but he doesn’t know how. If Peter’s struggling, what the hell is he gonna do?

His eyes land on the main computer in the front of the room, and the screen indicates that the download is complete. Well, he might not be able to do much in the way of fighting, but he can make damn sure that if they do make it out of here alive, they’re leaving with what they came for, before the whole place goes up in flames.  
He runs over to the computer, avoiding the glass shards that seem to be flying from every direction, and he’s about to unplug the hard drive, when his father hurls a bomb in his direction. Peter swings down, grabs him around the waist, and throws them out of the line of fire. Harry’s first thought probably shouldn’t be that the fucking hard drive just got destroyed, but the fucking hard drive just got destroyed!

“Why are you doing this, Mr. Osborn?” Peter yells, advancing on Norman once more. “Boredom? Inferiority complex? Mid-life crisis?”

“As always, Spider-Man, your wit never fails to annoy me, but no my dear boy. My reasoning is much bigger than that,” throwing a knife towards Peter’s head and missing completely. “Power is the only thing I’ve ever been after. The only thing I care about. But, being the CEO of Oscorp Industries just isn’t enough anymore. Too many competitors are popping up every day and leaving me in the dust, so I devised a new plan.”

Man, was his father going to monologue them to death, Harry thought, as he searched for anything in his general vicinity that he could use as a weapon. 

“My interests have changed, shall we say?” Norman continued. “I want to be the world’s number one leader in organized crime. The fools who come after you desperately need some direction, and I want to be the one who provides it for them. But, as with all things in life, you have to prove yourself first. What better way is there to gain their support than by killing the hope of New York City?”

His father sounds legit insane, and Harry is tempted to pinch himself to make sure he’s not in some bizarre nightmare. The leader of organized crime? Really?

“Well, that was a fascinating story, Mr. Osborn,” Peter taunts, “and if I may suggest some professional help for your delusions, but you’re not getting rid of me.” Peter leaps into the air, and tangles a web around Norman’s neck, pulling with all his strength. Norman struggles against it, but he slices it away with a blade he retrieved from his forearm.

Harry sees his father fling Peter into the wall he’s currently crouched by, and he lands with a sickening crunch. Peter is clearly knocked out because he’s not moving. Harry scurries over to Peter, grabbing his arms, and shaking. “Peter!” Harry yells into his ear. “Peter, you have to wake up! Now!”

Peter groans, shaking his head slightly, and pushes Harry out of the way with surprising force considering he was just unconscious, as Norman comes rushing towards them. Norman takes advantage of Peter’s disorientation, and hauls him up by the neck, slamming his back into a metal beam.

“I think it’s about time I find out who you are, don’t you think Spider-Man? It’s only fair,” Norman says, yanking Peter’s mask off his head. He nearly drops Peter in surprise before tightening his grip even further. 

“Peter Parker,” his father laughs, his smile becoming even crueler around the edges. “I should have known it was you the moment I stepped in here. You’re the only person Harry would betray me for.”

Harry would betray his father for $20 and a pack of Juicy Fruit, but now probably isn’t the best time to say it. 

Norman bashes Peter’s head against the beam, and let’s his body drop to the ground, as he flies towards Harry. Harry ducks behind anything he can find, but his father smashes right through it, leaving him, quite literally, cornered. His father is about to strike when Peter attaches a web to the back of the glider and pulls, sending Norman, the glider, and himself smashing into the wall.

Peter shoots another web towards the ceiling and he’s about to swing off, when Norman slices the web in half, and pins Peter to the wall by his throat. Norman is landing blow after blow on Peter’s face, slamming his head against the concrete with each hit. The entire left side of Peter’s face is dripping with blood, his suit is shredded more than it’s not, and Peter’s face is starting to turn purple from the lack of oxygen. Harry fucking hates this. He hates feeling useless. Then, an idea clicks.

Harry walks over to the remaining vials of serum that haven’t been destroyed in the chaos, and he starts smashing them. This will get his father’s attention, Harry thinks, and indeed it does. Harry is destroying his strength right in front of him.

Norman drops Peter to the ground, and rounds on Harry. But, Peter attaches another web to the back of the Goblin suit, and sends Norman sailing right off the glider. Harry sees his father get up with a snarl, glaring daggers into Peter, and everything after that happens in slow motion.

Norman summons the glider down, so it’s hovering between him and Peter. He presses a button, and four jagged blades eject from the front. “Bye, bye, Peter Parker,” Norman chuckles, as he sends the glider straight towards Peter’s half-unconscious form. But right before it makes contact, Peter flips into the air, and the glider bangs against the wall, boomeranging its way back to and into Norman Osborn, piercing his armor.

Harry sees the top half of his father’s body collapse onto the glider, and blood starts pouring out of the side of his mouth. But right before the life can completely leave his body, Norman pulls out a 10-inch knife, and jabs it straight into Peter’s side. Peter lets out a blood-curdling scream, and drops to the floor, groaning in agony.

Harry rushes over to Peter, and drags Peter away from his father. He doesn’t want them anywhere near each other. It wouldn’t surprise him if his father had nine lives or something, and he was about to regenerate. Nothing would surprise him about his father anymore.

“Har-,” Peter tries to say weakly, but is interrupted by a cough attack that shakes his entire body. “Are you okay?” Peter asks, as he tries to focus his eyes on Harry’s face. Harry almost wants to laugh, because seriously? He’s asking him how he is?

“I’m fine, Peter, but you’re obviously not. We need to get out of here,” Harry says insistently, tugging on Peter’s arm in an effort to urge him to move. “Come on, you can lean on me, Pete, but we need to go.”

“No, no, not through there,” Peter says, looking more alert, and motioning towards the hole where the door used to be.

“Well, then how, Peter?”

“My webs.”

“Are you fucking crazy? You can barely stand, Peter, and you want to swing both of us through Manhattan right now?” This kid is un-fucking-believable.

“I can do it, Harry. It’s the fastest way, and it’s the best way to make sure no one sees me.” Harry looks towards the floor where Peter’s mask ended up, and it’s shredded to bits. Peter couldn’t put it on even if he wanted to.

“Trust me,” Peter says, as he steadies himself on a piece of debris that might have been a desk, and stands on shaky legs. He takes a few deep breaths, and take’s Harry’s hand. “Let’s go, Osborn.” The swing off into the night with just enough time for Harry to look back and see the top floor of Oscorp tower burst into flames.

They end up at Harry’s house, busting into the balcony window that leads to the living room on his private floor. It might not be the best place to go, but it’s closer than Peter’s house, and Peter’s desire to put his secret identity ahead of his own safety rules out a trip to the hospital, which Peter looks like he desperately needs.

Harry manhandles Peter to the couch, and starts to take off what’s left of his boots. He surveys the damage littering Peter’s body, but what’s most concerning Harry is the jagged gash running along the left side of his torso. Peter’s agonized scream is still ringing in Harry’s ears.

“Pete, you need a doctor. I can’t fix all this.”

“No, no doctor. I’m good, Harry,” Peter wheezes out. He is so far from good, good can’t even see him right now. 

Harry moves his hands towards the wound on Peter’s side, but Peter bats his hands away. “Don’t touch it,” Peter groans. “Why not?” Harry asks, but Peter doesn’t reply. “Pete, why not?”

“Just don’t,” Peter whispers, exhaling an uneven breath. Harry doesn’t touch the wound, but he studies it, and it looks horrible. The skin around it is an angry red, and the entirety of Peter’s torso looks swollen. Shit. Peter’s breathing is shallow, his hands are starting to shake, and his face looks so, so pale.

“Peter!” Harry yells, gripping Peter’s chin with his right hand. “The blade was poisoned wasn’t it?” Peter gives a small nod in response, and Harry notices his breaths are coming out even slower now.

“Peter!” Harry shouts again. “Open your eyes! Look at me! Open your fucking eyes, Peter!” Harry tightens the grip he has on Peter’s chin, shaking his face a bit to get him to open his fucking eyes, and he does, but barely.

“Focus on me, Pete. Focus on my eyes. Focus on my voice. Whatever you do, do not close your eyes!” Harry reaches for his phone with his free hand, so he can dial 9-1-1. He doesn’t care if Peter refuses to go to a hospital, because Harry is getting him a fucking doctor. He’ll just have to come up with some lame excuse as to why Peter looks like he’s been crushed by a damn steamroller. 

Harry’s about to hit the “9” key, when he notices that Peter’s eyes have drifted shut, and his head is starting to loll to the side. “God dammit, Peter, I told you to keep your eyes open! Look at me! Please, Peter! Please!” Harry sobs out, because this cannot be happening.

He barely feels Peter’s knuckles rub gently across his thigh, before his hand stills.

Harry had promised Peter that he wouldn’t lose him, but Peter never promised the same in return.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry was pacing furiously in front of his bedroom door, and he runs a hand frantically through his hair. 

Harry shouted at the poor unsuspecting soul at the hospital that picked up his call that he wanted a doctor, some nurses, and whoever the hell else a patient needed to be at his house immediately. His friend was poisoned and he needed to be treated now. “I’ll pay!” Harry yelled at the confused woman who didn’t know what he was raving about. “I’ll give you all my fucking money, but I want a doctor over here now! I better hear sirens when I hang up this phone!”

A frantic looking doctor and two nurses showed up within five minutes, and they hauled Peter’s body into Harry’s bedroom, and hoisted him onto the bed. Harry made up some lie about Peter getting attacked by a sadistic knife-wielding mugger, and he had managed to come to Harry for help before he collapsed. The lie was horrible. He’s not sure if the doctor bought it, and he frankly doesn’t care because his mind can’t focus on much more than ‘Peter’ and ‘alive.’

The nurses had to physically force him out of the room so the doctor could do a thorough exam, so now here he was, wearing a hole in his floor and ripping out his own hair.

“Mr. Osborn,” the doctor says solemnly, leading them away from the door as the nurses go in.

“How is he?” Harry asks hurriedly, twining his fingers together, so he can have something to do with his hands.

“Mr. Osborn, the poison your friend got injected with is extremely toxic. He’s currently stabilized.” Harry could hear the “but” coming. “However, I’m afraid I’ve done all I can do, and the rest is up to Mr. Parker. I’ve hooked him up to a ventilator to help with his breathing. Antibiotics are being pumped into his veins via I.V. to avoid infection, and I’ve given him the antidote to the poison, but the dose I gave him is the only one I can give Mr. Parker. I had to inject him with a high dosage, since his body didn’t seem to be adhering to a regular dosage. If I give him anymore, I’m afraid the side effects will be lethal.”

Harry rubs his hand across his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose trying to process everything. “So, what do I do now?”

“I know it’s difficult, Mr. Osborn,” the doctor says in a tone she has probably perfected after so many years of delivering bad news, “but, there’s nothing you can do but wait. It’s up to Mr. Parker to fight his way back. According to the extremely brief briefing I received as I was rushing out of the hospital, you hired a nursing staff, so they’ll be monitoring Mr. Parker’s progress. But, as far as treatment goes, I’m afraid this is all we can do.”

Harry buries his face in his hands. The doctor gently slips past him, and heads to the room to check up on Peter one last time before she leaves. “I’ll be in touch, Mr. Osborn,” she says quietly as she exits.

He makes his way into the bedroom and sits on the chair situated by the bed. He scoots it closer to Peter and reaches for his hand, curling their fingers together.  
Harry waits until the nurses get the hint that he wants some privacy, and watches them file out the door, before closing it behind them.

God, he doesn’t even know what to say. Harry’s eyes keep zeroing in on the tubes shoved up Peter’s nose, the needles sticking out of his arm, the stitches holding his various cuts together, and the dried blood staining his hands. He places his hand over Peter’s heart and lets himself feel. His heartbeat is shallow, but it’s there. Harry starts timing their heartbeats together, hoping Peter’s body will unconsciously follow suit.

“Peter, I need you to listen to me, okay? Really listen to me,” Harry stutters out, wiping at the tears that escaped from the corners of his eyes. “You have to wake up, do you hear me? Put that patented Parker stubbornness to good use, and open your eyes. Think about all the people here who need you. What will Aunt May do without you? Or Gwen? Or MJ? They need you.”

Harry raises their joined hands to his mouth, and kisses the back of Peter’s hand softly. “I need you, Peter. I need you so much it scares the hell out of me,” Harry sobs out brokenly. “I promised you that you wouldn’t lose me, and I’m gonna need you to return the favor, do you hear? You’re making it through this, and that’s that. And you know as well as I do that once I set my mind to something, I’m going to get what I want.”

If Peter were awake right now he’d probably hug Harry, giving him that dopey Peter Parker expression that Harry always makes fun of him for but secretly loves, staring down at him with those doe eyes. But Peter is as still as Harry’s ever seen him, giving no sign that he’s heard anything he has said. 

Harry wants to say those three words to Peter that he’s never said to anyone in his life. Because he does feel that for Peter. He feels it so much it’s suffocating, but he wants to say those three words when Peter is awake to hear them. He wants to see Peter’s face, hopefully, light up when he tells him, and he wants to giggle like an idiot when Peter, hopefully, says it back.

Harry drops his head gently onto Peter’s chest and lets himself cry. He lets himself cry in a way that he hasn’t since he was 11-years-old, and the world wanted to rip him and Peter apart. It didn’t succeed then, and it sure as hell won’t succeed now if Harry has anything to say about it. So he cries into Peter’s chest, clutching at the scratchy hospital gown, repeating a litany of “wake up, wake up, wake up,” until he drifts off to sleep. 

\----------

Harry wakes up with a crick in his neck due to the fact that he slept in a chair. He must have moved off of Peter sometime during the night, but he doesn’t remember when. He’s glad though. Peter doesn’t need Harry’s dead weight on top of him while he’s trying to recover.

He looks at the various monitors that are displaying Peter’s vitals, and everything looks about the same as it was a few hours ago. He doesn’t even know what time it is. This has felt like the longest day of his life. Harry curls his hand in Peter’s, hoping he’ll get some sort of reaction from the boy, but nothing happens. 

Harry rubs at his face, and squints at the clock. It’s 2 p.m. Shit. He didn’t even think to call Aunt May last night to tell her what happened. She has to be worried sick. He goes to the bathroom, rinses out his mouth, and grabs his phone off the coffee table in the living room.

He feeds Aunt May the same story he fed to the doctor and nurses, and she sounds near tears before she hangs up the phone, telling Harry that she’s on her way over. He ends up telling Gwen and MJ the truth. They’re both a bit upset that neither Harry nor Peter told them the truth about Norman when they found out, but given everything that has happened, they both reluctantly say that they understand why they did it.

Harry’s fiddling around with his phone, when Aunt May comes out of the bedroom dabbing at her eyes with the corners of her sleeves. She had been in with Peter for over an hour. Harry wanted to barge in there like the selfish person he is, because he wanted to be next to Peter at all times, but they needed their privacy. He knows that.

“Sweetheart, I just wanted to thank you for what you’re doing for Peter, with the private doctors and nurses,” she says, smoothing down her blouse. “I’ll pay you back. I’ll probably have to do it in paym-,” 

“No, absolutely not, Aunt May,” Harry rushes out. “This was my choice. I wanted to do this for Peter. I care about him.”

“I know you do, dear,” she says, patting Harry’s cheek, giving him a knowing look in the process. She gives him a tight hug goodbye, and she’s shaking while she does it. Harry feels fucking terrible. He wants to tell her the truth, but he can’t do that to Peter. He’s worked so hard to protect her. Harry can’t blow all that just because he thinks she should know. Aunt May thanks him again, promising to be back tomorrow, and to please call her if anything changes.

Harry flips open The Daily Bugle lying on the table, and the headline reads, THE GREEN GOBLIN UNMASKED. Apparently, his father’s body was found in the charred lab in Oscorp tower, but his body was so badly burned the coroners had to identify him through the use of dental records. 

He vaguely remembers some of his father’s staff, well his staff now, coming up to him during the frenzy that was “save Peter’s life,” telling him that the police wanted to speak with him, but he waved them off and told them to field them away, as well as the reporters who are undoubtedly camped outside. He’ll mostly likely have to deal with the cops today, but he supposes it’s more of a formality than anything else. Any evidence that could connect him or Peter to the crime is in ashes, including the remains of Peter’s suit that Harry had half a mind to chuck into the fireplace before the doctor and nurses arrived, leaving Peter in just his boxers.

Harry supposes he should feel guilty that he doesn’t feel anything over his father’s death besides relief. It should make him feel horrible, like there’s something wrong with him. But, he’s not going to pretend to have affection for a man who never had any for him, and treated him like a nuisance rather than as a son.

Gwen and MJ stop by later in the day, and he gives them their privacy with Peter as well. He picks up a book off the desk in the corner in an attempt to distract himself, but it’s useless. He’s read the same line about 50 times, and all the lines keep blurring together. He’s not going to be anything resembling okay until he knows Peter’s going to be alright.

When the girls exit the room, MJ drapes her arms around Harry’s shoulders from behind the couch, and Gwen sits next to him, grasping his hand tightly. They’re all suffering together, but he has a feeling they know he’s suffering in a different way. He doesn’t think he’s managed to be subtle about his feelings for Peter, especially lately.

“He’s gonna be fine, Harry,” MJ says, placing a kiss on Harry’s temple and rubbing her hand soothingly on his chest. “The kid’s tough as nails. He can even give me a run for my money,” she laughs, moving her hands to grip Harry’s shoulders tightly.

“Have you told him yet?” Gwen asks, tangling their fingers together.

“Told him what?”

“You know what, Osborn. Have you told him how you feel about him? How you really feel, I mean.”

Harry hangs his head and shakes it. Gwen gives him a small “tsk” and chucks his chin up. “He’s going to wake up, Harry. You’ll get your chance. The two of you deserve it.”

The two girls make their way out the door, and Harry hugs them both tightly before they go. He’s not taking anyone in his life that he actually cares about for granted again. He’s going to keep them as close as he can. They also ask him to call them if anything changes, and then they’re gone.

Harry makes his way into the bedroom at about 10 p.m., and he stares at Peter’s motionless body, willing him to move. He sits on the chair by the bed, and settles himself in for his anxious vigil. He immediately curls his right hand around Peter’s, and places his left hand under his own chin. If he’s in the room with Peter, then Harry wants to have physical contact with him. It might seem stupid, but he believes if he’s holding on to Peter, grounding him to reality, then he can’t leave him. At least, not really.

The next few days pass the same. Harry holds Peter’s hand, Peter lies unmoving, and nothing changes. Dr. Banda has come back to check on Peter’s progress, and she told Harry that she was hopeful, but her face said something else. 

Harry will only leave Peter’s side if he needs to go to the restroom or take a shower. Something that he’s been neglecting. He doesn’t feel like eating much, but Samuel threatens to have a feeding tube shoved down his throat if he doesn’t eat something soon. So, he eats as much as he can stomach, which admittedly isn’t much, and leaves the rest of the food the cook piled onto a plate untouched.

The police come to the mansion once more to inform Harry that the investigation concluded that his father had died by his own hand. The prevailing theory was that Norman Osborn was so overcome with guilt for what he had done and for what he became, that he decided to destroy his lab and himself right along with it.

Harry wants to yell, and tell them that his father had never known the meaning of the word guilt. He was a power-hungry maniac, who would have kept terrorizing New York City if the boy currently lying in his bed hadn’t stopped him. But, he can’t tell them any of that, so he lets them believe what they want to.

Aunt May, Gwen, and MJ visit every day, and they always tell him the same thing. Call if anything changes, but nothing ever does. Harry supposes he should be grateful, because things haven’t gotten worse, they’ve just remained stagnant. But, after more than a week of staring at Peter’s unconscious form, he’s starting to get nervous.

Harry wakes to the sensation of nails scratching gently through his hair, and he bats the hand away. Who the hell is touching him right now? He’s fucking exhausted. He blinks open his eyes, and slowly lifts his head from where it had fallen on the side of the bed. He rubs a weak hand down his sleepy face, and swallows a few times to soothe his scratchy throat. He needs water. He turns his head to face the person lying in his bed, and he almost chokes on his own spit, because holy shit.

“Peter! Peter! Oh my god! You’re awake! You’re actually awake!” Harry laughs out, and he’s vaguely aware that he most likely sounds delirious, and quite possibly even a little deranged, but he doesn’t care because Peter’s awake! He grips the sides of Peter’s face with his hands and gently brushes his thumbs across his cheekbones, and Harry’s smiling so wide his face starts to hurt. He almost wants to shake the kid, but he doesn’t want to cause any unnecessary damage.

“Wha-,” Peter starts to say, but the words die in his throat. His throat has to by drier than the Sahara. He gets up to grab the cup of water the nurses placed on his dresser, and he guides the straw into Peter’s mouth. 

“What happened?” Peter asks, once he gets his throat working properly.

“You don’t remember?” Harry rakes his hand softly through Peter’s hair, and traces his thumb lightly over the cut Peter has above his right eyebrow. The stitches are still healing.

“I’m trying,” Peter whispers, pinching the bridge of his nose. Harry sits on the bed, by his side, quietly, allowing Peter to work through the memories on his own.

“Fuck.” Yeah, Peter remembers. “Your father. Is he-”

“Dead? Yeah.”

“Oh, Harry, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be, Peter. He stopped being my father a long time ago. It’s better this way. Now we don’t have to worry about him escaping from prison or something.” Peter grabs his hand, and runs his thumb gently across it. “But, how are you feeling, Pete?”

“Like I’ve been beaten with a stingray. How long was I out for?”

“More than a week,” Harry mumbles, remembering the hell he’s been living in up until a few minutes ago.

Peter begins to catalogue his surroundings. He stares at the I.V. stuck in his arm, the monitors beeping by his bed, and he plucks at the tubes in his nose. “Harry, what did you do?”

“I saved your damn life, that’s what. I called a doctor, Pete. And before you start getting mad, I didn’t tell them what really happened. I made up some lame story about you getting attacked by a very resourceful mugger. You weren’t even in your Spider-Man suit when they arrived.” Peter raises his eyebrow at that last part, but doesn’t ask.

“Thanks, Harry. But, why am I in your bedroom instead of in a hospital?”

“The perks of having a billionaire for a best friend,” he says, by way of explanation. “And before you offer to pay me back, as I know you were just about to, Aunt May already tried it, and I told her what I’m about to tell you. It was my choice to do this, so you’re going to pipe down and enjoy this. Well, I didn’t say that last part to her, but you get the gist.”

Peter chuckles, and gives him a smile that is impossibly fond. Harry immediately calls Aunt May, Gwen and MJ, and he’s sure they’re all racing over to the mansion as fast as humanly possible. While they wait for them to arrive, Harry tells Peter that he told Gwen and MJ the truth. He tells him about the cops and their theory, and about the articles that have been littering The Daily Bugle.

Just like before, he gives Aunt May and the girls their privacy when they visit with Peter. Dr. Banda comes sometime between their visits, checks Peter’s vitals and the stab wound, and declares that he’s making a full recovery. She tells Peter to complete two more full days of bed rest before being able to start on light activity. Harry’s going to have to make sure Peter keeps it light.

Harry is walking Gwen and MJ to the door, when they both turn to face him, crossing their arms over their chests. Harry’s kind of scared. “Tell him, Harry,” Gwen says, looking more serious than he’s ever seen her. 

“Gwen, I want to. I really do, but what if he doesn’t feel the same way.”

“That doesn’t matter!” Harry gives her an incredulous look, because, uh yeah, it matters. “Harry, after everything that’s happened, don’t you think you owe it to yourself and to Peter to tell him?”

Harry knows she’s right, but in the hours since Peter’s been awake, Harry’s begun to talk himself out of telling Peter how he feels. He can’t shake the fear of what’ll happen when he does.

“You have to be as oblivious as Peter if you don’t think he feels the same way,” MJ says, leveling Harry with a pointed look. “Get it, Osborn,” she says, winking at him before waltzing out the door.

“Do it, Harry. Trust me.” Gwen kisses him on the cheek, and closes the door behind her.

\----------

Harry stalls. He admits it. He tidies up the living room that people have been filtering in and out of for the past week. He showers and changes out of his ratty pajama pants and threadbare t-shirt that he had been wearing until now. He even goes down to the kitchen to eat his first full meal in 10 days, and Harry smiles when the cook looks at him with a face so happy Harry thinks the man might burst.

It’s 9 p.m. by the time Harry returns to his bedroom. The moonlight is streaming in through the windows, now that the curtains have been opened at Peter’s request.

“Hey, Harry. Where did you run off to?” Peter asks, giving Harry a genuine Peter Parker smile.

“I just had to take care of a few things, but I’m all done now.” Harry gives Peter a once over. The tubes have been removed from his nose, which means that Peter is breathing fine on his own now. He’s also wearing actual pajamas that Aunt May must have brought over because there is no way anything of Harry’s would fit Peter well.

“Good, I missed your face,” Peter chuckles, nudging Harry’s hand with his own.

“You missed my face? I’ve been here the whole time, Parker.”

“Yeah, well, once of us was kind of unconscious, Osborn.” Harry swallows hard. Peter might be ready to joke about his current, and up until recently very worrying, condition, but Harry’s not quite there yet. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be because the past week has been the scariest time of his life, and he never wants to go through it again.

Peter must sense that something’s wrong because he grabs Harry’s hand, tangling their fingers together, and says, “Hey, I’m alright, thanks to you.”

“You almost died, Pete,” Harry mumbles out, shuddering as he does because he can’t get the image of Peter’s bleeding body lying on his couch out of his head. Now he knows what Peter must have felt like.

“But I didn’t. I heal quickly.”

“Yeah, I know that. And the fact that you took more than a week to do so should tell you something about how close you were to dying, Peter.”

“Come here,” Peter says, dragging Harry onto the bed, forcing him to sit next to Peter. Peter runs his hand through Harry’s hair once, and rests it on the back of his neck. “What about you? You had some close calls too.”

“Yeah, and you saved me.”

“Well, right back at you, pal.” Peter smiles, and Harry wants to memorize every detail of it. But then Peter’s smile falls, looking down at their joined hands, and says, “I can’t stop being Spider-Man, Harry. It’s dangerous, and I accept that. I choose to put my life on the line every time I go out there, but-”

“Peter, I swear to god, if you start with the danger lecture I’ll throttle you with a pillow, healing stab wound or not.” Peter outright laughs at that, clutching his side a little, and calling him stupid like he usually does. “I think we’ve both learned by now that shit’s going to happen to us whether we’re together or not, so I vote that we stay together. Deal?” Harry asks, boring his eyes into Peter’s.

“Deal,” Peter smiles, eyes crinkling in the corner.

Peter’s giving him that dopey expression again, and maybe they jacked him up with some morphine, or maybe he always looks like that when he’s not carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, but Harry’s heart is starting to beat faster and faster in his chest. It’s now or never, he thinks. It’s his chance, Gwen’s words echoing back at him.

“Peter, I need to tell you something,” Harry says, letting go of Peter’s hand because if this isn’t going to go how he hopes it will, well then he doesn’t really want to be holding Peter’s hand.

“Okay,” Peter says, straightening himself up as much as he can and sounding confused at the seriousness of Harry’s tone.

“You know, I um, I’ve always thought of you as my best friend ever since we were five-years-old and you told my father I said all that shit about the animals at the zoo when we both know I didn’t. You’ve always been there for me, Pete. You’re the only one who has.” Harry clears his throat a few times, and wipes his sweaty palms on his pants because this is it. Peter’s eyes have gone a bit wide, but he doesn’t look like he wants to flee, so that’s good.

“So, you see, I guess you could say that I sort of realized something when I came back, or maybe I realized it before, and let me just say, for the record, that this little epiphany I had scared the hell out of me, and it’s also the best thing I’ve ever felt. But, I decided not to tell you.

And then all this shit happened with my dad. And then I got hurt, and you almost died, and it’s just like, I think it would be fucking moronic of me not to tell you because who knows how many chances we’ll get to, you know? Peter, what I’m trying to say is that I’m in love with you, and god, I think I always have been. I just didn’t realize I was until now.”

Peter’s eyes are wide as hell, he looks a bit crazed, and his mouth apparently dropped open sometime in the middle of Harry pouring his heart out. “Peter, please say something,” Harry says frantically. The silence is not appreciated right now. “You need to say something.”

“Harry, I-” Peter says with downcast eyes, and Harry can feel it coming. The rejection. His chest fucking hurts.

“It’s okay, Pete. I get it,” Harry mumbles, getting up from the bed. Maybe Peter will think he hallucinated all this.

“Harry, I-”

“No, Pete, I get it. It’s okay. You don’t feel the same way, and it’s fine. I just hope I didn’t make anything weird between us is all. You know what? Let’s just pretend that this never happened, sound good? Let’s pretend that I never sa-”

“Harry Osborn!” Peter shouts, causing Harry to stop his rambling. Peter grabs Harry’s shirt, bunching it up in his fist, and pulls him down. He crushes their mouths together, and the collision is painful and perfect all at the same time. Peter pushes back a bit, and brushes his thumb over Harry’s cheek. Now Harry’s eyes have gone wide, and he’s pretty sure he’s not breathing all that normally. 

“Harry Osborn, I know how much you like the sound of your own voice, but could you please shut up long enough for me to tell you something?” Harry nods dumbly, getting the message that Peter won’t continue unless he responds. “Good. Harry, I’m in love with you too, and I think we both should have said something sooner,” Peter finishes with a sad smile. They’ve both been so dumb about this.

“Well there’s no time like the present,” Harry says, grinning cheekily, cupping the back of Peter’s neck and guiding him in for another kiss. The kiss is gentler this time. No clacking teeth, just a tentative brush of lips, with Harry’s hand scratching through the short hairs on Peter’s nape, and Peter’s thumb dragging across the skin above Harry’s hipbone.

Harry doesn’t think he wants to do anything but this for as long as he lives. This feels amazing. It feels brilliant because Harry’s realizing that this is what a kiss feels like when you’re doing it with someone you love. Harry certainly didn’t love any of the people he kissed before. He barely even cared about them. But this, this is special. This is Peter, and it’s perfect. 

\----------

“Uggh, Harry, where are you going?” Peter mumbles, burying his face in Harry’s chest and rubbing it on Harry’s t-shirt in an attempt to wake up.

“I need to go to the bathroom, Peter. You know, my bladder is a thing, and needing to pee is also a thing. Plus, my left arm is asleep, and I haven’t been able to feel it for at least two hours. Your head is fucking heavy,” Harry bites back, attempting to wriggle his body from under Peter like he was trying to do before.

“My head weighs eight pounds, Harry. Just like yours. Didn’t you ever watch Jerry Maguire?”

“Whatever, Peter” Harry says, trying to rid himself of the fingers currently tangled in his shirt. Every time he tries to move, Peter clings on, and drags him back under him.

After about five minutes of vigorous making out the night before, turns out they both had a bit of unresolved tension, Harry had pushed back on Peter’s shoulder gently, and told Peter to get some rest. It physically pained Harry to stop what they were doing, especially since it turned out Peter was really good at it. Typical, Harry thought. But, Peter really did need the rest. Harry didn’t want him to strain himself, and now that Peter was awake and recovering, Harry’s lack of sleep began to catch up with him. 

Harry moved off the bed, and waltzed over to his closet to get a spare blanket and pillow. There was no reason to sleep on the chair anymore, which his neck was thankful for, so he was just going to go sleep on the couch. But, as soon as he started walking towards the door, he heard Peter whine from his place on the bed. The kid actually fucking whined.

“Harry, what the hell are you doing?” Peter asked. 

“I’m falling down on the job here, Parker. I need to sleep and so do you, so I’m just gonna go lie down on the couch, okay? Goodnight, Peter.”

“Harry, there’s a perfectly good bed right here.”

“Yes, Peter, I’m aware of that, considering you are currently lying on it.”

“Exactly,” Peter smirked, wiggling his eyebrows a bit.

Harry gulped. Hard. “That’s not a good idea. I could hurt you, Pete. What if I roll over you, and I wake up and your organs are lying all over the bed.” He vaguely thought he was being overdramatic.

Peter looked like he didn’t know whether to laugh or knock Harry’s head. “Okay, first of all, what the fuck? That’s not going to happen. Second of all, you’re not gonna hurt me. I’m practically healed already. Unless you’ve developed a kicking and hitting habit in your sleep that I am unaware of.”

“Peter, I don-”

“Harry, just get over here,” Peter begged, holding out his hand in invitation. “Please.” Peter was breaking out the big guns—his puppy eyes. The ones that always made Harry cave.

Harry dragged his feet over to the bed, dropping the pillow and blanket he retrieved somewhere in the general vicinity of his closet, and inched toward the mattress. Peter scooted over a bit to accommodate him, but he could only move so far due to the I.V. sticking out of his left arm. So, Harry lied down gently on Peter’s right side, and laid there stiff as a board. 

Peter just rolled his eyes, and started to move Harry’s head to fit underneath his chin, when Harry stopped him. “I don’t think so, Peter. We’re doing this the other way around.” So, Harry moved up on the pillows a bit, and guided Peter’s head to rest on his chest. Peter placed his ear right over Harry’s heart, and Harry let out a small smile. Peter was being so cheesy right now, but they deserved to be a little cheesy. Harry placed a soft kiss on Peter’s hair, tightened his hold on his friend’s shoulders, and drifted off to sleep.

Gwen and MJ arrived to the mansion the next day to visit with Peter now that he had the night to rest, and it’s a good thing they came when they did because Harry might have greeted them in nothing but his boxers, due to the clingy wall crawler occupying his bedroom. Harry had tried for a full 20 minutes to put on some decent clothing, but Peter kept dragging him down onto the bed, excessively hindering any progress Harry had made.

“So, looks like you two finally got your shit together,” MJ says, as she slips into the chair by the bed. Gwen is smiling at the two boys from her place on the foot of the bed.

“At the risk of sounding cliché, it was about time,” Gwen says, reaching out to lightly slap Harry on the chest. “I knew one of you had to cave eventually, you oblivious morons.”

“In my defense,” Harry says quickly, “Peter kind of played his cards close to the chest there.”

“Oh my god,” MJ half snorts-half laughs.

“Yea, seriously, Peter wasn’t even in the realm of subtlety,” Gwen says, giving Harry her patented ‘you’re an idiot’ expression. “All I heard in the weeks you two weren’t talking to each other was ‘what if Harry this,’ or ‘what if Harry that,’ or “what do I do about Harry.’ I mean I’m sorry, Peter,” Gwen says, turning her expression on Peter, “but I kinda tuned you out sometimes because you kept saying the same things over and over, and I kept giving you the same advice over and over.”

“Thanks for the support, Gwen,” Peter says in a deadpan voice, nudging her thigh with his foot. “It’s overwhelming.”

“Well, we both reserve the right to make fun of the two of you as much as humanly possible,” MJ quips. “I’m sure you two will be one of those disgustingly adorable couples that have matching everything.”

Gwen and MJ stay for about another hour, and most of the time is filled with relentless mocking. The remainder of the day and the day after that is pretty relaxing in Harry’s opinion, but he can tell Peter is getting restless and antsy. 

On the beginning of the fourth day after Peter wakes up, Harry bolts up in bed, as he hears Peter struggling to lift himself off the mattress. Dr. Banda had come by the day prior removing the I.V. from Peter’s arm, so it was his own body that was holding him back.

“Peter, you’re supposed to be taking it easy,” Harry says, placing his hand on Peter’s shoulder, urging him back towards the pillows. Peter just shakes him off.  
“I’ve been laying in this bed for two weeks now, Harry. I need to move.” Peter plants his hands on the bed, pushing himself into a standing position, or at least attempting to. Harry gets out of bed, walking in front of Peter, and reaches out his hand for Peter to hold. Peter glares at it. God, why did he have to be so stubborn?

“Peter, just take my fucking hand. You’re going to wear yourself out attempting to get up on your own that you won’t even have any energy left to try walking.”

“No, I’m doing this myself,” Peter says, setting his steely gaze on Harry.

“God, what is with you? Is it physically impossible for you to ask for help? Is the famous Spider-Man to proud to ask for a hand?” Harry snaps, cocking his head to the side.

“Way to make a mountain out of molehill there, Osborn. I like to do things on my own. What’s wrong with that?”

“Give me a break, Parker. This is more than that, and you know it. We both do. You’ve always had this independent streak in you, running a mile wide, but it’s gotten worse since your parents took off. I never said anything, but this whole martyr thing you have going on stops now, do you hear me?” Harry gets down on his knees right in front of Peter, placing his hands on Peter’s knees and gripping the soft material of his pajama bottoms tightly in his fists.

“I’m here now, okay? I always have been. I want to help you, Peter, but I can only do that if you let me.”

Peter’s having an internal struggle. Harry knows what it looks like by now. Peter’s furrowed eyebrows, the slightly open mouth, and the downturned corners of his lips, all signal a war going on in Peter’s head.

Peter lifts Harry’s left hand off his knee, gripping it tightly in his right hand, and pushes down on his palm a little. “Help me, please,” Peter whispers, flicking his gaze between their joined hands and Harry’s eyes. Harry grasps the back of Peter’s neck, and places a gentle kiss on his forehead before resting their foreheads together.

Once they manage to get Peter standing, Harry slings an arm around his waist, and walks them slowly around the bedroom. Harry relents when Peter asks to walk around the living room, but he draws the line when Peter starts heading towards the stairs. He can feel Peter’s legs shake a bit, and he sounds a tad out of breath after taking just a few steps, but Peter is strong. He’s stronger than the average human, so it won’t take long for his body to adjust. That doesn’t mean that Peter can fling himself out a window and start swinging around New York City again. Harry hid his webshooters for a reason.

The boys make their way back towards the bedroom now that Peter’s exercise for the day is done, but right before Harry opens the door, Peter stops them. “Thanks,” Peter mumbles, kissing Harry’s temple, before resting his forehead against it.

“Any time, Parker.” 

\----------

“The bedroom is all yours again,” Peter says, smiling and waving his arm out in front of him. “You’ve been a wonderful host.”

Peter walks out of the bedroom, closing the door with one hand as he holds the bag holding the change of clothes Aunt May brought over in the other. 

“Finally,” Harry mumbles, brushing his hair out of his face. “I was getting tired of you hogging all the covers.”

“I do not,” Peter says, rolling his eyes. “It’s not my fault you’re always freezing.”

It was time for Peter to go back to Aunt May’s house, and Harry was putting on a brave face, but honestly, he didn’t want Peter to go. Ever. He had tried to make up excuses for Peter to stay, but the truth was Peter was back to his old self again. He was able to walk without help, his appetite had returned, and he even ran around the block yesterday, returning only slightly winded.

“Oh, and before I forget,” Peter says, snapping his fingers in the air. “I believe you have something of mine.”

“I believe I do,” Harry sighs, walking towards the desk in the corner of the living room and unlocking the bottom drawer. “Just promise me you’re not going to start using them the second you walk out of here,” Harry says, giving Peter a pointed look.

“Scout’s honor,” Peter says, lifting up his two fingers and giving a cheeky smile. Harry hands over the webshooters reluctantly. Of course Peter wouldn’t forget them.

“Hey,” Peter whispers, placing a finger under Harry’s chin and lifting up his head to meet his eyes. “I know these last few weeks haven’t been the easiest, and I just wanted to tell you how much I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. I don’t think I’ve told you that yet. Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Harry mumbles, stepping closer to Peter and putting a hand on either side of his waist. “I did this as much for me as I did it for you.”

“Well, don’t cry too much when I leave, Osborn,” Peter quips, chucking Harry’s chin up.

“Oh, I’ll try not to, Parker. But, you know me, as soon as you leave I’m going to throw myself onto my bed and refuse to leave it for the rest of the day,” Harry deadpans, giving Peter a less than amused look.

Peter just laughs, giving him an impossibly fond look, and runs a hand through Harry’s hair. He places his palm on the small of Harry’s back, pushing their bodies flush together, and kisses him lightly. Harry sighs into his mouth, and tightens his grip on Peter’s hips. He’s going to miss being able to do this whenever they want. He’s just gonna miss Peter.

Peter pulls back slightly, pecking Harry on the lips once, twice, three times, and then he’s gone. Harry actually does end up throwing himself on the bed, wrapping himself up in the blankets that are engrained with Peter’s scent, and refuses to get up for the rest of the day, but Peter doesn’t need to know that.

Harry tries to get into some semblance of a routine after Peter goes. He’s been living in a bubble for the past almost three weeks. He is CEO of Oscorp now, regardless of how young and under qualified he is, and he could only pawn off his duties on his staff for so long.

Harry spends days in his office with lawyers, financial advisors, and various members of the board trying to clean up the complete mess the company’s in. He basically cleans house when it comes to the employees, weeding out the ones he was positive were helping his father with the Goblin research. More would probably pop out of the woodwork, but he would cross that bridge when he came to it. 

Harry appoints an acting CEO to oversee the daily operations and business, and Harry let’s her know that he would only get involved in the big decisions. He is just 17-years-old, and he wants to enjoy the rest of high school and college without the weight of a multi-billion dollar corporation on his shoulders. If it wasn’t for the fact that he truly believed Oscorp was capable of extraordinary things that could actually help people, he would sell the company to the highest bidder. His last name isn’t something he’s too proud of anymore.

He has seen Peter for a few minutes here and there, and they text each other for about an hour each night, but they are both so busy trying to get back on track that they rarely spend time together. 

Jameson told Peter that he hired a new photographer since Peter was hung up for almost three weeks, leaving The Daily Bugle in a severe Spider-Man drought. Apparently, the fact that Peter was recovering from a poisoned stab wound wasn’t a good enough excuse for his absence. So, Peter is out every day looking for a job that will pay him enough, so he can help his aunt with the monthly expenses and have enough left over to put into his savings account for college. Harry would gladly give Peter as much money as he needed if he thought there was even a slight chance that Peter would actually take it.

Harry is sitting at his desk going through some paperwork, and uggh, it sucked being 17, home on a Saturday night, going through mountains of paperwork, when something on the television catches his eye. One of the local news correspondents was reporting on a police stand-off happening somewhere in downtown Manhattan, when suddenly a blur of red and blue flew behind her on the screen.

Peter, Harry thinks, as he exhales sharply and pinches the bridge of his nose. He knows Peter had zero intention of giving up being Spider-Man, and Harry didn’t want him to, but he’d be lying if he said seeing Peter fly across the screen hadn’t made his heart drop into his stomach. Harry would always be nervous every time Peter went off to do what he did as Spider-Man. That was just how it was going to be now.

Harry immediately picks up his phone and sends a text to Peter. He tells Peter to please be careful, and to please stop by Harry’s place after he was done cleaning up the latest crime gone array, so Harry could see for himself that he was still in one piece.

He opens his bedroom window enough for Peter to swing through, and he paces in front of his television, biting his fingernail, the paperwork on his desk all but forgotten. 

At about 11:30, Harry hears a thud coming from his bedroom, and he rushes in, preparing himself for the worst. But, Peter’s just standing there grinning, hair a bit wilder than usual due to the mask he ripped off. “See,” Peter says, gesturing to himself. “I’m all good.”

“Oh really,” Harry says, gripping Peter’s right arm and pointing to the gash on his shoulder. 

“I actually just got that,” Peter laughs, yanking on his suit. “You might want to open your window a little more next time, Osborn. I mean I’m skinny, but not that skinny.”

Harry doesn’t even have the energy to think up a clever response. He hauls Peter into a tight hug, burying his face into his neck and just breathes, letting Peter’s scent invade his entire being. Peter leans his head down to place a gentle kiss on the back of Harry’s neck, and rubs his hand soothingly over his back.

Harry desperately wants to ask Peter to move in with him, and the thought should surprise him, but it doesn’t. He wants Peter to be around him all the time, always. But, he knows Aunt May would be in the negative percentages when it comes to being on board with the idea. No matter how much she loves both boys, they are still in high school, and Peter will be living at home until he graduates. Once, they’re in college though. Well, then that’s a whole different story.

“Stay,” Harry whispers, dragging his mouth up to Peter’s ear and placing a small peck to the back of it.

“Yes,” Peter breathes out, pulling Harry closer and tightening his grip. He walks them towards the bed and pulls Harry on top of him, grinning the entire time.

\----------

“My god, Harry, you are such a snob,” Peter snorts, giving Harry a condescending pat on the cheek.

“Excuse me for not jumping for joy because of the grease spot you’ve brought us to. I can feel my cholesterol rising, and we’re just standing in line,” Harry snaps, picking off a piece of lint on his pants.

“It’s Five Guys, Osborn. It’s not like a brought you to a taco truck parked in a back alley.”

Peter had called Harry earlier in the day, and had asked him out on a proper date. “A date?” Harry had asked, sounding a tad confused. “Yes, Harry, a date,” Peter said, and Harry could feel the eye roll through the phone. “It’s when two people go out to eat, or go see a movie, or some other shared activity. They talk and laugh, and at the end of the night maybe they’ll even have a goodnight kiss.” “Fine asshole, we can go on a date.” “Awesome! I’m paying so I pick the place.”

And that’s how Harry had ended up here, trading insults in a line, with Peter. “I apologize if my current income isn’t enough to satisfy your expensive tastes, but I’m paying, so you’re gonna deal with it.” Harry just glares at Peter harder and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Stop being a brat,” Peter says, pulling Harry towards the next available cash register. “Next time we go out, you can take me to one of those fancy places, where the cheapest item on the menu is $60, and the portions are so small I can finish my food in one bite.”

Harry was being a brat, he knew that, but he had never quite acquired the taste for fast food. However, a cheeseburger wasn’t going to kill him, and this was his first official date with Peter. He didn’t want to ruin that. So he decides to suck it up, and order the smallest burger they have, which is still huge in Harry’s opinion. He physically recoils away from the bag when Peter picks it up, and there are already patches of grease staining the sides, but he’ll disregard that, as long as the bag is nowhere in sight while they eat.

Once they finish eating, they walk hand in hand into the early August air, and make their way towards the Hudson River Park. It was only fitting. The tension from earlier in the night was gone, and now they were both cackling like idiots as they made their way down 35th Street.

They walk along the railing lining the river, which is perfect since the water gives off a cool breeze, and Peter is currently regaling Harry with story after story of various people he’s encountered thus far at his new job as a barista in a local café in Queens. 

Harry is barely listening because he keeps stealing glances towards Peter’s face, making a mental list of all the contrasts that make it up. Peter has soft, doe eyes surrounded by worry lines from someone who has already seen too much of what life was capable of. He has deep dimples that blossom when he smiles widely, but he also has even deeper frown lines. His prominent features are all sharp angles, from his cheekbones to his jaw, but they are set in such a youthful face. Peter still looks like such a kid because he is. They both are. A fact that they are both guilty of forgetting too often.

He slips his gaze down towards their joined hands, swinging a bit between them due to the animated way Peter talks, and Harry lets out a soft smile. He never dreamed he would actually get to do this one day.

They head back to Harry’s house close to midnight, and they make their way up to Harry’s floor. Harry heads to the bedroom to take off his shoes and watch, and put his wallet on his nightstand. When he comes back to the living room, Peter is standing by the desk, shuffling through the files Harry had pulled on various Oscorp employees. Apparently, the company needed to do some major reassigning of personnel in every department, which fell under the category of “big decisions.” Peter looks up at Harry with an expression that clearly states, “I’m so glad I’m not you.”

Harry snorts, shaking his head a bit, and puts out his hand for Peter to join him. “Leave that shit alone will you? Neither of us is working tonight.”

Harry tugs on Peter’s arm, and drops them on the couch, ungracefully. Peter grins dopily down at him, and reaches up a hand to smooth back Harry’s bangs. “I missed you, Harry,” Peter whispers, brushing his thumb lightly across Harry’s jaw.

“I missed you too, Pete.”

Harry surges up to kiss Peter, and he pours everything he’s feeling into it. This is the first time in a while that he’s felt normal, and he intends to take advantage of it. He pushes down on the corner of Peter’s mouth slightly, so he can delve his tongue inside, and fucking finally! They’ve been so busy and rushed lately, that this is the first time they’ve made out since the night Harry told Peter he loved him.

Peter pulls back, breathing heavily, licks his lips, and stares down at Harry with a heated expression. “Harry,” is all Peter says, and that’s all he needs to say. Harry knows.

“Fuck,” Harry groans, grasping the back of Peter’s neck and hauling him down for another kiss.

“Harry,” Peter pants after a few minutes. “I kind of wanted to do this in a bed, you know.” Before Harry can even respond, Peter’s lifting him up, forcing Harry to wrap his legs around the boy’s waist, and he starts to walk them towards the bedroom, trailing open-mouthed kisses up Harry’s neck. Normally, Harry would yell at Peter for taking advantage of their height difference (because Harry is a bit self-conscious about his height), but he could not give less of a fuck right now. Their height difference might even come in handy.

Peter drops Harry onto the bed and immediately leans over him. Peter is holding himself up on shaky arms, and Harry rubs a hand up and down Peter’s chest in an attempt to calm him. “I’ve, uh, never done this before, Harry, with, um, anyone. So, you’re gonna have to guide me through this.”

Peter almost looks ashamed at his admission, but Harry doesn’t care if Peter’s done this with zero people or 200 people. All that matters is them. “I’ve got this, Pete,” Harry whispers, flipping Peter onto his back, and kisses him gently. Harry starts to nudge Peter’s shirt, and Peter leans up, swiftly stripping it off. Harry licks his lips because yeah, Peter’s got a great body. One of the good things that came out of being bitten by a radioactive spider. Harry follows suit, ridding himself of his own shirt, and he watches Peter rake his eyes over his chest. Harry blushes. Harry doesn’t ordinarily blush, well ever really, but this all starting to get overwhelming. This is everything he always wanted, and everything he never thought he would have.

Harry drapes himself on top of Peter, and Peter lets out a shaky sigh due to the friction caused by their pants rubbing up against each other. It didn’t take much to get them going. They’re both so impatient for it.

Harry leans down to kiss Peter once more, and grins when Peter eagerly opens up for him. He’s holding himself up on his left forearm, as his right hand starts to unbutton Peter’s pants. Once he gets the zipper down, he reaches inside to cup Peter over his boxers, and Peter’s hips jerk off the bed, his eyes doubling in size. Harry lets out a small laugh, placing a sloppy kiss on Peter’s jaw, and starts to drag his pants down his legs. 

“Harry,” Peter grunts, as Harry begins to drag his boxers down.

“Don’t worry, Pete, I’ll go slow,” Harry soothes. “And you can stop me anytime you want, alright?” Peter nods, and Harry resumes his task. Once the boxers are flung to somewhere, Harry thinks he heard them smack against the door, he takes a minute to memorize the sight in front of him. Honestly, Peter’s perfect, and Harry would find it infuriating if he didn’t love the kid so much.

Harry kisses a trail from Peter’s ankle up towards his thigh, but he stops right before he put his mouth where he really wants to. “Pete, you okay?” Harry asks because he has to make sure this is what Peter wants too.

“Yes,” Peter says in a shaky breath, giving Harry an encouraging smile. Harry places his mouth on the tip of Peter’s cock, and that alone is enough to elicit a pretty impressive streak of curse words from Peter’s mouth. Harry grabs Peter’s hips, and holds him down to the bed firmly but gently.

He takes more of Peter in, stopping when he can’t anymore, unfortunately he does have a gag reflex, and wraps his hand around the base. He starts to stroke Peter’s cock, leading his hand and his mouth in a synchronized rhythm, which has Peter gripping the bedsheets so tightly he might actually tear them. So, Harry grabs Peter’s left hand, guiding it to the back of his head, and he groans a bit when he feels Peter’s fingers bury into his hair. 

“Fuck,” Peter pants, dragging his right hand down Harry’s cheek, and slipping his thumb in between his lips. Harry’s eyes flutter shut because holy hell, Peter probably doesn’t even know what the fuck he’s doing, and he’s driving Harry crazy. 

“Harry, I’m gonna-,” Peter says, pushing at Harry’s shoulders. Harry honestly doesn’t give a shit if Peter comes in his mouth. He wants him to. He wants to feel him come apart. Peter comes with a shout and Harry’s name on his lips, while Harry swallows every last drop, ignoring the unpleasant taste and texture. He kisses his way up Peter’s body, slipping his tongue into Peter’s mouth, and Peter’s fingers tighten in his hair.

“Jesus, Osborn, you’re really good at that, did you know that?” Peter asks, stroking his hands down Harry’s sides. 

“I’m glad you’re impressed, Parker,” Harry laughs, placing soft kisses on Peter’s neck.

Peter flips them over so Harry’s lying on his back, and he looks down at him with a smirk. Peter’s fingertips dance across Harry’s chest, and he starts undoing Harry’s pants before Harry even realizes he’s doing it.

“Pete, you don’t have to do th-,” Harry starts to say, but Peter shushes him. 

“I want to,” Peter says, placing a firm kiss on Harry’s lips. “Trust me.”

Peter rids Harry of his own pants and boxers, and wraps his left hand around Harry’s aching cock. Harry lets out a hiss, and yeah, he’s pretty sure his eyes roll to the back of his head. Peter starts off stroking at a slow pace that leaves Harry writhing on the bad, desperate for more.

Peter grabs onto Harry’s hair and yanks his head back, latching onto the straining tendon in Harry’s neck with his teeth. Harry lets out a sound that’s not even close to being human, and he knows he’s not going to last long. He can already feel the tension building. Peter speeds up his pace, dragging his mouth up from Harry’s neck to his jaw to his mouth. The kiss is all sloppy, and Harry can’t do much but pant into Peter’s mouth.

“Pete, I-,” Harry grunts, dragging his nails across Peter’s back.

“Come on, Harry,” Peter says, and Harry comes so hard he can feel his toes curl. 

Peter collapses onto Harry’s chest, and they’re just a mess of drying cum and sweaty limbs all tangled together. “God, Peter, is there anything you aren’t good at?” Harry asks, scratching at the short hairs on Peter’s nape.

“Spelling,” Peter snorts. “I’m pretty shit at that.”

Peter moves off of Harry, lying down on his side, and Harry follows suit. He grabs the back of Peter’s neck, pressing their foreheads together, and they both start cackling like loons. “I cannot believe we just did that,” Peter laughs, wiping at his eyes. 

“Seriously,” Harry says, clutching at this stomach. 

If anyone had told Harry when he was younger that one day he would be lying in a bed naked with Peter, laughing about how they had just had sex, he probably would have punched them in the face and submitted them for drug testing. But, here they are. They’re boyfriends now. Neither of them has said they are, but they both know it. Just like when they were kids, and they didn’t have to declare one day that they were best friends, because they both knew they were. 

When they finally settle down from their orgasm-induced hysteria, they just stare dopily at each other, moving themselves closer together. Harry thinks if someone had told him when he was younger that he would grow up to be completely, utterly, and sometimes terrifyingly, in love with Peter Parker, he would have believed them, because everything they’ve been through in their lives led them to this point.

Maybe he fell in love with Peter the day he stared at Harry, with a type of sincerity in his eyes you could chip your tooth on, and told him that he was smart when no one in his life had ever told him that before. 

Or maybe he fell in love with Peter when he had seen Harry cry for the first time. Peter hadn’t said anything. He just sat with Harry for hours until he calmed down, steadying him with a small hand on top of his equally tiny hand. 

Or maybe he fell in love with Peter when Kristen Jones refused to be his valentine in the 5th grade because Harry wasn’t good enough for her. The other girls had all snickered as she flipped her hair and walked away. Peter had come up to him after school, grabbed his shoulder, and whispered that if Harry wanted, Peter would be honored to be his valentine, because Harry was his favorite person in the world.

Or maybe he fell in love with Peter all those nights he would lay awake at boarding school, and he thought about Peter over and over again so he wouldn’t forget a single thing about him. Each time he thought of Peter his smiles would become warmer, his eyes softer, his jokes funnier, and his hugs tighter.  
Harry would never know when exactly he fell in love with Peter, but the truth was he would be hard pressed to remember a time when he wasn’t.

“Hey, Pete,” Harry says, stroking his thumb across Peter’s bottom lip.

“Yeah,” Peter responds, groggily.

“How do you feel about having sex in the janitor’s closet right by the science hall?”

“Pfft,” Peter sputters out, his whole body vibrating with laughter. “I rather not have sex in a place where the likelihood of one or both of us falling into a mop bucket is insanely high. Unless, the smell of ammonia really gets you off? I mean whatever works for you.”

“Shut it,” Harry laughs, smacking Peter’s chest lightly.

“We’re having sex somewhere in that school before we graduate, Peter, so you better start thinking about it.”

“You got it, Harry.”


End file.
